Tabhairt Isteach Do
by Kath McGill
Summary: First in the series! Deadly events draw Jessica and her family in the discovery of a blood pact made a century before one that continues to claim lives. Please read this before reading "The Gathering"
1. Chapter 1

**_Tabhairt Isteach Do_**

Disclaimer. I don't own the people that are found in Murder She Wrote TV series, or in the book form. They are the property of someone else. I do own the characters that I created. The character of Dr. Tipper Henderson has been created by Anne, and is used with her permission. To read more about the adventures of Tipper, Google Murder She Wrote and go to the "Definitive Guide to Murder She Wrote."

This story has been modified since its first release, the original version is found on Anne's site and in the yahoo MSW web site. This story (Tabhairt Isteach Do ) is several stories within one, starting with Picture Perfect Murder, chapters 1-4 then Ghost of Preston Giles,Chapters 5-9and Murder by Trust,chapters 10-15, TillDeadly do we Pactwill be chapters 16-? and the ones that follow that adventure will be posted probably mid May (or when ever its done!).All ofthese have beenbroken up into chapters and placed on Fanfiction as such to make it easier to read.

Please review after you have read the chapters. Granted, the story may seem to be a bit slow, it does improve over time. I know there are some people who have skipped ahead to other chapters, which you may do, but you may lose key clues if you do! I hope to follow the adventures of one very dynamic young man this summer for your reading pleasure!

This story is rated for 13+

_**Tabhairt Isteach Do**_ begins with...

**A Picture Perfect Murder By Kats(c) 2002/2006**

_Chapter one._

It was raining. Odd in itself as the song suggested that it never rains in California- though the rains that did come, brought misery to those it drenched as people scurried between the drops seeking shelter under the awnings and in the door frames. It didn't do anything to dampen Jessica Fletcher's spirits as she road in the back of the Taxi with her dear friend Dr. Seth Hazlet. She had arrived in California for a book signing and had the opportunity to bring Seth along. They road in silence now, neither needing to say anything, just the moment of being together as friends was enough. The book signing was done, they had free time to enjoy each others company before the long journey home.

A brief trip back to the hotel to drop off some things at the front desk after the signing then dinner was in order now. Seth said he had a surprise for her. She had laughed, not unkindly. At her age, not much surprised her, nor was anything more was anything needed to make their friendship stronger. As the taxi stopped at a red light across the street from the Parks Theater Jessica regarded a tall too thin woman with long strawberry blond hair that was pressing herself against the wall trying to keep dry. There was such a look of sadness in the woman's beautiful face. Jessica saw her pull her dark trench coat about her shoulders a bit tighter to ward off the chill in the air The door to the theater pushed open and a stocky man with shaggy dark hair stepped out and glanced up and down the street before walking over to the woman. Jessica saw the woman shrink back from the man, yet, not flee as he gestured backwards to the street. The light changed and the taxi that Seth and Jessica was in continued on it's way to the hotel.

"DID you tell the cabdriver to wait for us Sondra?" Asked Martin Goodfellow of his wife Sondra as they stood beneath the theaters awning waiting for the cloud burst to ease up. Sondra closed her eyes, looking down at the pavement. Martin had rushed in to the theaters office to secure the tickets for the evenings performance .They were to go to dinner, then return to the theater for the last show.

Sondra heard Martin expel air from his lungs. She waited for what she knew was to come...Waiting, knowing he would never yell at her in front of people. Such a wonderful devoted husband, so handsome, and what a beautiful home in Cabot Cove- of all places! "Those words along with "You should be grateful that he is a good provider for you!" rang in her ears, words from his family. His-perfect- family that just shook their heads over "unfortunate accidents" that she had had of late...Before he was able to get in a breath to begin, the cab pulled up and the cabbie jumped out with an umbrella to help them into the car. Sondra breathed a sigh of relief as the cabbie gave her a nod and closed the door. She knew that it would take more than just a second as her husband had stated, it all ways did.

The street in front of the Parks Theater was marked no parking, and the mounted beat cops wouldn't care if there was a hundred dollar fair waiting inside, they would have ticked the cab. Sondra had just paid the cabbie to drive about the block until they exited the building. Her husband never would have thought to do that, or even considered the legality of the cabbies position. She could almost hear her husband's words already .She should have picked up the tickets before his arrival, not wait till the last moment, but there were more pressing matters she had to attend to that delayed her getting to the airport, one that required her to take a different flight than what her husband thought she had taken. Though the theater stated the pre paid for tickets could be picked up just with ID at the door prior to the show, the taxi trip to the theater was his idea. Forcing an issue- giving him any reason to confront her, to justify later anger against her.

She closed her eyes weary of it all -weary of her "perfect husband" of a loveless marriage, of everything. Divorce was out of the question. No one would believe that he was anything less than perfect. Martin Goodfellow made his living taking photos of people. Being in the right spot knowing how to turn on the charm- that was her Martin. He all ways asked for permission to take the photo, when he could, and had the knack of getting the perfect photo to ether make or break a person. Sondra wondered sometimes if the big money that he was paid for the photos were from the people out of fear of what he could do with the photos, or if they were really that good.

Sondra gritted her teeth at the thought of what he had planned for the night. She didn't know how he had done it, but, he'd used his charm to change the reservations at the restaurant for someone – his next- opportunity. It had to have cost money, or, simply blackmail to lose that persons reservation at the restaurant, and then be forced to sit with him...and then would come the hook, "You know I take photos, What say I do a free sitting for you and see what develops? "What would develop would be a signed contract that allowed him to dog their every step- and then the "other" photos would be taken. The hush money would follow. He wouldn't bleed them dry. He would just-tap them once in a while with a new photo that would show up unexpectedly at their door. It would be done so quietly - so- discreetly, the people wouldn't ever think that they were being victimized. They were buying silence. Locked in a file cabinet were all the negatives with an impossible lock. Sondra did allow herself to smile. Of all the people in his life, She was the only one who had never signed one of his contracts giving him permission to photograph her. She had never done anything to be ashamed of, her only regret was signing the marriage contract that read "Till death do us part"

She agreed to come with him on this trip because he said he needed her. She didn't quite know what he needed her for, she knew that she would learn that later, and perhaps it was best that she stayed innocent of everything. Martin pulled his trusty camera from his pocket. He gently brushed off the pocket lint and gave it a loving pat. Sondra held back a groan. She knew why she was there... She was to be bait . Sondra Goodfellow froze in the lobby of the restaurant. She could hear a voice discussing the absence of the reservation. There were other people that were told that there would be ready in three hours without a reservation and that they could wait in the lounge, and then bring their drinks to the table.

Sondra heard the ladies voice raised in protest. She knew that voice, and knew that her husband had decided to blackmail Jessica Fletcher. She saw him discreetly take a photo of Jessica. Another photo was snapped discreetly with the high speed film he always used. Sondra had no idea what he had in mind. She dared to look over where the entrance into the restaurant was, and saw Jessica, with Dr. Seth Hazlet. What were both of them were doing in L.A.? Of all people she in the town of Cabot Cove she knew - trying to get one over on Jessica would be the ruin of her husband -or the death of her when it didn't go the way that he had planned. Sondra knew the smart money would to be to turn and run away- for as long as she could. He would follow of course. She was his meal ticket Somehow she knew he had managed to book them at the same hotel.

Martin grasped her hand painfully in his and led her to where Jessica was becoming exasperated. Seth was trying to calm her down telling her a ham burger at the local deli would be fine. Martin and she arrived just before Jessica had a chance to agree with Seth. Martin was smooth. His words were a balm to Jessica, inviting them both to eat with them, they had a table for four, and their friends had canceled. Sondra could see that it was not quite what Jessica and Seth had planed, and Jessica almost declined completely. But Martins charm won over and the four of them were soon seated. Sondra couldn't even think of food then. A growing fear was in the pit of her stomach. She closed her eyes when she heard the words- his line-, and to her relief, heard Jessica decline the offer of the photos. Her husband shifted in his seat. She realized at once that she would receive the brunt of his anger tonight when they arrived at the hotel room. She needed an excuse- any excuse to escape. Somehow she had to get far away from her husband, and she didn't quite know how.

The dinners arrived on steaming platters. Sondra had hardly touched her drink, or her soup. She saw Martin, take his hand off the table, she knew when he became agitated, he would grasp her hand and hold on tight enough to break her bones. She avoided his hand by keeping one on her water glass, the other with her fork in hand. Sondra saw an older red haired thin man who seemed too tall for his frame coming towards her with three drinks in his hands. He was the same one that the restaurant had informed to wait in the lounge. There were two others with him, a dark haired gentleman with deep blue eyes, and a prim lady that was lovely in a graceful way who was all eyes for the dark haired man. They were headed to the paths that lead directly behind Sondra to their table. The red haired man was leading the way, and turned to speak to the people behind them. Sondra took that split second to shift her chair slightly back. The tall redhead missed the narrow opening and impacted with Sondra, drenching her with the contents of the glasses. Ice-cold white wine soaked her thin silk dress, and her skin.

Sondra gathered her purse and said that she would take a moment to dry off in the lady's room. She told Jessica and the other lady who they called Diana to stay she was quite capable of mopping her self up Sondra went to the ladies room and saw a pay phone. She dropped five dollars worth into it, and dialed a single number that she knew wouldn't pick up. After four rings, she hung up, leaned against the phone very weary. She gathered her change out of the phone, and walked into the ladies room where she sat with some paper towels and began sopping up the spilt drinks. She took her time, getting every last bit and then using wet towels, went over the stain area over and over again, and followed by drying the material.

She was on her fifth time with now going over with a dry towel when Jessica popped her head into the ladies room. "Sondra? My word that dress is taking a long time to dry" Jess said coming closer. Sondra shook her head.

"I just don't want to smell like a brewery, that's all. It's been a long trip, and I've no way of getting this cleaned before we go back. Can't have the people thinking I'm a lush..."

"Oh, they wouldn't Sondra! It's almost dry, come eat with us, you must be famished!"

Sondra reluctantly stood up and followed Jessica out. They had to go by the lounge to return to the tables and by chance, the same tall red hair man was carrying more drinks out, and distracted, impacted with her again, soaking both of them this time. She looked at her dress, and shook her head. "Uncle" she said, turned to Jessica. "Tell my husband that I will see him back at the Woodrain hotel. I can't stay in these clothes." Sondra shook her head and went to the coat rack.

Jessica returned to where Martin was discussing photography with Seth and the advantages of having a dedicated photographer to help with publicity for Jessica when she arrived at the table and let him know Sondra was going back because she was drenched again. Martin, as he had offered to pay for the dinner, couldn't leave. Inward he was furious with the situation. Sondra went out to the doorman was and asked him to call a cab for her. She knew she had very little time. It was a quick trip to the hotel, to shower and change. A small bag with her personal things, and then she took what money she could find. She tossed the key on the bed, and left the hotel to walk to the nearest cab stand and asked him to drive her to the airport. She waited until he picked up an outgoing fair, and then going inside to the ladies room at the airport reversed her trench coat, putting the dark side of it inward the light side outward, then tucked her long hair under a hat, took a second cab back into the city where she found an inexpensive hotel and made her self comfortable for the night .All she could do was look at the telephone, and pray that someone would never make the connection of what she had done. Sondra realized that she couldn't ever go back. She would have to make a new life for herself and hide forever from her husband. Morning would come soon enough.

Martin Goodfellow scowled as he strode down the street away from the Parks Theater. No cab would pick him up in his current mood. He had given the tickets to Jessica and Seth, telling them with Sondra not going that he didn't have the heart in it, and if they could turn the tickets back in for him. Sondra needed to be shown she had to support her husband... He knew the hotel was just a few blocks away from the restaurant. The evening had almost tapped him out. Getting the table switched had been a sweet deal. He had come at off-hour and caught on film an indiscreet moment by the current manager. Getting the photos developed swiftly, he returned with the evidence, and was able to get the dinner, and the change in reservations for the cost of one of the negatives. The manager didn't know that what he had were only copy of the negatives, that Martin held the originals. He figured that with enough of the negatives, he could milk this guy for a few great dinners, and then toss him a bone now and then .He patted his pocket, and with a shock realized that his camera was gone... At first he began cursing Sondra, then he realized he had it on the table after she had left. He could have sworn that he had put it into his pocket. He turned on heal and marched back to the restaurant

Jessica Fletcher looked over at Seth as they made them selves comfortable that the same red haired man that was in the restaurant was in the seat next to them. Seth followed her curious gaze, and saw that he had a drink in his hand. Quite dryly Seth said to him "I do hope you have a firm grip on that young man?" The red haired man looked a bit surprised to see them. He flushed and apologized, moving the drink to his other hand.

"My Pardons,...Where is your other friend?" he inquired smoothly.

Seth shrugged "Said his heart wasn't into the evening without his wife. Hopeless romantic I guess...You're awfully friendly for a LA'er"

The redheaded man chuckled. "Part of the job description to be a people person." He held out his hand "Anthony Thomas, and your?"

Seth carefully shook his hand, his eye on Anthony's drink. "Seth Hazlet. This is Jessica...Jess, this is Anthony Thomas, from the restaurant. He says he is a "People Person." Anthony saw Jessica's questioning eyes regard him, puzzled. Before she could make any comment, the music began to swell and the lights dimmed. In the darkness, Seth sought her hand and gently cradled it into his. Nether saw Anthony Thomas give a worried frown before settling back into his cramped seat.

Two rows behind them sat the other two who had been to the restaurant with Anthony. Donald Brook leaned over to whisper softly into Diana's ear "What could possibly be a motive for Blackmail for those two?... is Tom sure of his facts from his informant"

Diana nodded. "He is still running through the id's for those two... In the mean time, You DO owe me a night out on the town, may as well enjoy the peace while we can..." Diana snuggled back into the seat with Donald's bemused grin looking down on her.

Intermission found Donald stepping outside the theater to light up a cigar. Diana called them a nasty habit, wouldn't let him smoke them in the office. He saw Tom Mallard stride down the sidewalk to him, his face grim. Tom stood tall lean and lanky, never to be able to find a chair that didn't look like it belonged to a child when he sat in it. He slicked back his blond hair and fixed his handsome mug in a half smile when he saw Donald outside the building "What do you have for us Tom?" Asked Donald, a gleam in his eyes for the latest scoop.

"Not much that you would like. Your gents a dr. just a regular GP, widowed for over 17 years, has a daughter, son in law, and a few grand kids. Resides in Cabot Cove Maine, no warrants, no traffic tickets, and the sheriff, Mort Metzger had only good to say about them both. Now, The lady is another piece of work. Retired School teacher of English, she's been a widow for about 15 years. No children, only nieces and nephews that she visits. It seems everywhere she goes, people turn up dead."

"You're kidding!" gasped Donald

Tom shook his head. "Nope, no joke. At last count, it's been 263 people have died where she had ether vacationed at, or visited, or lived. That's only in the last 12 years:

"Is, she responsible?" asked Diane

Tom shrugged. "Not that they could prove... I was able to book rooms for you, Diana, and Anthony at the hotel, across the hall from them, and my operatives have moved some things in for you." He hands Donald a set of keys. "Third floor, rooms 314-317. "Uh oh, they're giving the signal for the end of the intermission... Last bit, um, Donald, my operative tailing the suspect's wife, lost her. She went to the hotel, was up there for all of ten minutes, and then came down with a bag-hopped in a taxi and went straight to the airport. He lost her in the crowds. He can only say that she placed a long distance call on the phone, but because there was no answer, and rang under five times, the phone co has no record of it."

"Keep at it Tom. Anthony thinks we don't have allot of time on this one..."

Tom studied Donald closely "Exactly what does he have on you, that we are involved in this?" Donald only smiled mysteriously before entering into the theater again. They still had a few moments before the curtain went up again.

Diana looked at him as he sat and said softly. "She's beginning to wonder what is going on...She saw me in the ladies room"

"Did she say anything?" Donald asked

Diana shook her head. "But she keeps glancing up here when she speaks to her friend... wondering why with empty seats beside Anthony that we are up here."

Donald saw Jessica turn to listen to a comment from Seth, he knew that the glance their way was coming soon. "Then we have to give her a reason..." He said softly tilting her head upward to give her a soft kiss on her ruby lips. Jessica was answering a question posed by Anthony, who followed her gaze, and saw Donald and Diana kissing. Jessica flushed briefly, then saw Anthony grin "Bout time." He said indicating back to them with a tip of his head in their direction.

Seth missing it all nodded" Ayah, curtains just..." A ring of a cell phone interrupted him.. The cell phones shrill ring echoed from the breast pocket of Anthony Thomas. By the third ring, he had silenced the phone. He glanced at the message on the display, and then pocked the phone. Jessica saw the brief frown before he relaxed and looked to the stage to follow the second half.

Seth just shook his head. He couldn't see the sense of getting away from everything to relax just to be interrupted by a cell phone

Donald and Diana had heard the cell phone's urgency. Diana rose from her seat and went out of the theater to the lobby, to return a few minutes later. She slid a small fold of paper into Donald's hand. He glanced at it, shook his head. Diana rested her head on his shoulder. In their line of work, there were no happy ever after. She saw Seth place his arm about Jessica's shoulder and pull her in closer. There had to be a moment, like this ,in every friendship. One where time, the world didn't matter. One could only hope that the moment would last forever. She looked up at Donald, her employer, friend, and confidant for so many years. She could count the number of times that he had asked her to marry him. If now, when ladies could work, and keep house, was then, she would have. Diana wondered if in the friendship between the two, if there had been the talk of marriage, or would it be forever friendship? All too quickly the moment and the play were over. The house lights came up.

Anthony waited until the others had stood up before unfolding his lanky frame. He saw that his getting up caught the attention of Jessica. "Not as nimble as when I was young" he shrugged slowly rising. He moved slowly with them to the front of the theater. Donald and Diana were off to the side. The rain had stopped and it was becoming a warm night.

Seth saw the mob of people rushing to the taxies, and turned to Jessica. "There are far too many of them, and too few cabs. We could take the bus?"

Jessica smiled. "Or we could walk."

Anthony looked a Donald and Diana with a small shrug. Diana stepped up to them.

"Well, we're staying at the Woodrain hotel , and our car is in that lot, May we walk with you? You said that's where your staying... Unless you wish to, be alone..."

The comment brought a faint flush to Seth's cheeks. "Wouldn't want to put you out of your way... Easier for three to get a cab than two..."

Donald shook his head. "Not at all, after that meal, a walk would be welcomed."

The five of them strolled slowly. Donald and Diana walked arm in arm, as did Seth and Jessica. Anthony felt a bit out of place as he walked with his hands in his pockets.

"So where is your date for tonight Anthony? A handsome young manlike you shouldn't have any problem with the ladies if you're the people person that you say you are." commented Seth

"He is a confirmed bachelor" said Donald.

"All work and no time to look is more like it. Too many long hours." replied Anthony sheepishly.

Seth studied him "And just how can a people person BE a person people if he hasn't time for the female people? What exactly do you do?"

Anthony shrugged. "I help people. I give Donald gray hair, and Diana something to do."

Donald became indignant. "Gray hairs? That's been your plan? Diana, take a memo. Send a bill to Anthony from my hairdresser."

Diana tilted her head and studied him under the lamp light. "I think the gray makes you look distinguished." There was a tenderness in her eyes

. Donald kissed her cheek softly "Thank you dear." It was several blocks to the Woodrain hotel. The five of them made it into the lobby just before the rain began to fall again in a heavy down pour. The wind picked up with sudden furry, and hail began to pelt the windows.

Anthony looked at Donald before going to Diana and giving her a sound kiss on the cheek. "That's for having foresight to book us within walking distance, a drive home would take till morning..."

Diana gave a side glance at Donald who wore a bemused grin before saying "No, Anthony, you cannot have Diana work for you." He held up his hands in surrender.

The lights flickered then the hotel was plunged into darkness when a loud BOOOOMMMM! Reverberated in the hotel. Jess felt someone bump her in the dark, knocking her off her feet. She banged against Anthony and was caught by him as the emergency lights came up. She felt something very wet against her arm and looked down. Anthony followed her gaze and saw her sleeve was soaked in what looked like a bloody handprint.

Anthony gently steadied her on her feet as she looked at the stain and said "Oh dear!" Donald saw the blood as well, and quickly glanced around the hotel lobby for any one that had blood on them, or was moving about too quickly. Most of the people were still standing very still until they knew that the lights would stay on. Some were moving to the steps to go to their rooms Seth guided Jessica to the lobby sofa, with Diana taking the seat beside her. Carefully he rolled up the sleeve, and was relieved to see that the blood came from the outside, not her.

Jessica shook her head "I'm alright Se..." Her voice faltered as she looked up and saw someone looking at her from across the lobby. Seth followed her gaze and saw her looking at a tall exotic plant.

"Jessie, we are getting you up to the room, even if I have to carry you my self..." Seth said sternly

"I can walk Seth.. I am just a bit tired, that's all." She said tearing her eyes from the man who's presence brought back such painful memories. Seth and Anthony helped her up to her feet and across the lobby to the now clear steps. It took a while to travel up to the third floor and then down and around to where there rooms were. Diana was making a joke about probabilities when she saw the blood coming out from beneath Jessica's ajar door. Seth's door was also open as well, and a trail of splatters lead inside as well


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**.

_Jessica shook her head "I'm alright Se..." Her voice faltered as she looked up and saw someone looking at her from across the lobby. Seth followed her gaze and saw her looking at a tall exotic plant._

_"Jessie, we are getting you up to the room, even if I have to carry you my self..." Seth said sternly _

_"I can walk Seth.. I am just a bit tired, that's all." She said tearing her eyes from the man who's presence brought back such painful memories. Seth and Anthony helped her up to her feet and across the lobby to the now clear steps. It took a while to travel up to the third floor and then down and around to where there rooms were. Diana was making a joke about probabilities when she saw the blood coming out from beneath Jessica's ajar door. Seth's door was also open as well, and a trail of splatters lead inside as well_

Diana looked at them and said "The men can handle this, Jessica, we ladies can kick off our shoes in my room for the night... If the police have any questions, they'll know where to find us." Numb, Jessica looked at Seth who nodded.

They waited until the door was closed and they were safe inside before Anthony pulled out the cell phone and dialed a single number. "Arthur? Could you get the boys down to the hotel?... a what? alright. Well, have them seal off the third floor ,and get them up here as soon as you can. No, just missed ... ok." He hung up the phone

Seth regarding him with a very stern gaze. "Now, young man, would you please tell me exactly what you do as a people person?"

Anthony pulled out his wallet and showed him his ID. " District Attorney for Orange County. Arthur Taggart is the chief inspector of homicide...They have another murder to investigate before they come here..."

Seth turned and looked at Donald "And you work for him?"

Donald shook his head. "Gracious no! I work against him at every possible moment.! We're close friends, and rivals."

Seth sighed, then "Best we see what happened..." With the edge of a pen, Anthony slowly pushed the door open to Jessica room The walls of the room were splattered with blood. A trail of it lead from the door where it had puddle out, to the bed where a naked young man lay bound with the cord from Jessica's bathrobe, his throat slashed from ear to ear. From the pallor, Seth knew he had been dead for a while . Following the blood trail, they opened Seth's door, and found a large silver handled, razor sharp letter opener that was tossed onto a crumpled bed cover. Through the bloody smears the words "To Jessie, all my fondest love forever and always, Seth." On the dresser, a box, and a receipt with Seth's credit card number and a signature.

Seth looked at it, and then them. "Looks bad for Jess and I doesn't it?"

Donald looked at him. "Did you buy that for her?"

Seth shook his head. "Highly impractical for Jessica to use a letter opener that size with her arthritis in her hands. Gave her one of those pinch letter openers for easy opening two months ago. If you don't mind, I'm going to check up on Jess. Not like her to be so rattled like she was in the lobby."

Anthony nodded and gave Seth his room key. "You need to kick off your shoes yourself for a while. Donald and I will keep an eye on this."

Seth nodded and went off to Diana's room. When he was out of the room ,Donald asked softly "Another murder Anthony? Who?"

Anthony swallowed. "The mater'd at the Restaurant was discovered dead near the same time that the intermission happened. If we hadn't been there..." Anthony shook his head

The victims clothing was over the chair. "He was one of the waiters at the restaurant. Martin Goodfellow is known as a blackmailer, but never did he do violence to someone. Which leaves his wife who was terrified the entire evening. We can't rule her out,"

Anthony tilted his head. "Why not? Tom had a tail on her..."

Donald shook his head. "She lost the tail, but she had her bags ,and as the blood is fairly fresh, and she left this hotel before the first act ,I doubt if it was her... and both Seth and Jessica were with us during the entire time, except for their journey to the theater, but Tom had been tailing them and they came straight to the theater."

Donald saw a brown envelope stuffed hastily under the corner of the chair in Jessica's room. He pulled out his handkerchief and carefully pulled it out, then opened the envelope and slid its contents onto the dresser. There were photos of Jessica and Seth, together. The graininess of the photo suggested that they were taken with a long lens through a window. The positions, and the content of the photos spoke of a far more intimate and revealing relationship between Jessica and Seth that would undoubtedly cause a scandal in the small town of Cabot cove. Perhaps, with Jessica's worldliness, she could shrug it off, but in a small town where peoples tongues wag like puppy dogs tails, the photos could be the ruin of Seth's medical practice.

"Is it evidence? or playing into the blackmailers hand?" asked Anthony from Donald's elbow. Donald handed it to Anthony. "Personally I don't think its to point to Jessica or Seth being the murderer. but a an attempt at justifying the murder. If you look closely at the shoulder you will see the angle of the shadow changes. These photos have been retouched. There not photos from this room, or his, suggesting that they are works of our blackmailer. No negatives.. We do know that Martin didn't go to the theater, My guess he planted the photos first, and then went to look for his wife..."

In Diana's room Seth sat on the side of Jessica's bed. She had removed her shoes and had a blanket over her knees. He held her hand gently and spoke to her in a low voice. Diana across the room, could hear the conversation- one of concern and reassurances to her. He finally asked "So, who did you see in the lobby?"

Jess studied her best friends face. In all the years she had known him, there were something's she never could confide in him about. He had turned to her and Frank when his wife Ruth had died, and she had found comfort by him after Frank's death. A single tear came down her cheek "Jess, Who is he that upsets you so much?"

She closed her eyes willing away the tears. "Someone I haven't seen since Frank died. I never knew his name. But at the end, when Frank was struggling to breath, he opened his eyes when that young man came in, and he said. "Oh, well, I guess its time" Frank looked at me as the man came to his bedside and took his hand. He said "See ya kiddo, love you with all my heart..." and then he breathed for the last time. I hugged Frank, and when I sat up, The young man was gone." I felt an incredible peace Seth-even with all the sorrow and pain my heart was going through, I felt peace."

"And you saw this same young man tonight?" She nodded. Seth felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand upon end.

There was a knock on the door. Diana went to the door and checked the peephole before opening it. An elderly man with the beginnings of a dowagers hump entered the room. He was dressed in a rough gray tweed suit, and had an un smoked cigar in his handkerchief pocket. He smiled at Diana and asked "How is it m'dear, that you meet the most interesting people?"

Diana answered smoothly. "I work for the best."

The man came over to them and extended his hand to Jess. I'm Arthur Taggart from homicide. Your rooms have been sealed until the forensic boys can go over them. Though the hotel could give you another room for your stay here, we think it's best if you both stay with Miss Parks ,and Mr. Thomas. We don't know the motive yet, beyond that there has been an attempt to frame you for this... The hotel staff will be providing you with anything that you need. We have this floor guarded so you're quite safe"

There was a knock on the door "Must be room service now." Taggart said as he opened the door. A young lady in a hotel staff blue suit pushed a cart in that held several bags on the lower shelf, and a large urn of coffee with many mugs on the top.

Seth looked at Jessica. "Don't think any of us will be doing much sleeping tonight..."He saw a look in Jessica's eye. "What are you thinking Jess?"

"I think I know what the motive for this murder was... Seth placed his finger tips on Jessica's lips. "Shhh... Jessie- Maybe its best if we let the police handle this one. Let them come up with who the murderer is, and the motive. I'm worried about you Jessie, it scares the daylights out of me that some one got close enough to you to leave that hand print on your sleeve, It could have been a knife, or a gun. And it doesn't do my heart any good ether to learn that someone broke into our rooms. I may be selfish here, but I want to keep you alive and safe for a long time."

Jessica studied Seth's face, so full of love and concern. He removed his fingers from her lips, bent over and kisses her cheek softly. "Rest now."

Anthony looked at the photos, now placed safely in the evidence bags. Turning it over he saw printing in a dark black ink. Most of it was numbers, and some letters. He frowned, and wished he had some knowledge of what they meant. He went over to the forensic photographer, and had him make a Polaroid close up of the printing for all of the photographs. He went over to Donald. "I'm going to see if I can track down when the photos came here... If you find out something, give me a call."

Donald nodded and watched him go. Normally he would have Tom do the running. He couldn't afford to tip his hand on this one. Not when they were so close..

Adam the Woodrain Hotel Manager, let Anthony know where there was a full service 24 hour Photo Lab in the city. "But they just print photos, there a quick and dirty lab. You don't want to go there- you want to speak to Taylor over at the Hill-N-Dale Mall. She's the one who can help you get the best photos in the state of California."

Anthony shook his head. "I have the photos, I need information on them, but she is a start. How far away is this mall?"

" Five miles, they are closed right now...But the switch board to the mall is always open... hold on…"

Ten minutes later with an address in his pocket Anthony was driving to a middle class neighborhood wondering if he would ever see his pillow that night. The switch board operator was hesitant about giving him her name, but once he had it, it was simple to get her address from the DMV. He saw a small compact car in the driveway, and pulled in behind it. Bright flowers lined steps and a light sensor clicked on, illuminating his way to the front door. He heard a small dog begin to bark, and howl as soon as he pressed the doorbell.

The inside light clicked on, and a slender middle-aged lady in a frumpy flannel robe and a net over the curlers in her ash blond hair came to the front door. She opened the door, with the chain still latched and asked "Yes? and You are?" a deep growl came from her little dog

"District Attorney Anthony Thomas, I, need your help. May I come in?" He looked at the dog who tried to worm its way outside to chew on his leg The growl deepened. "It's 3:45 in the morning. Can this wait for a few hours? And May I see some ID?" He reached in his pocket and held it up. She shook her head. "Nuh Huh. Gimme." Anthony, startled handed her his entire wallet through the space of the door and was surprised when the door closed. He was even more surprised a few moments later when his phone rang. "Hello?... Hello?...

There was a sound at the other end that seemed in stereo, and he realized that it was the sound of the door opening. He saw she had a small cell phone in her hand and a bemused smile on her tired face. She unchained the door and let him into her home. Anthony's eyes adjusted to the dim lamp-light. She pointed to the sofa, and handed back his wallet before going into her kitchen. He placed it back in his jacket pocket, and sat. Her dog, a small ball of fluff came up and sniffed at Anthony before sitting down at his feet. Anthony eyed the dog for a moment then saw her reenter with two large mugs. She handed one of them to him. He thanked her, and took a sip. It wasn't coffee, he wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was hot and dark and strong, yet soothing.

She sat at the other end of the sofa and pulled her feet up. Her dog jumped up on the sofa at her feet and curled up between them "Ok. So what do you need?" She asked taking a sip of her mug.

He pulled out the packet of Polaroid's and handed it to her. "I was informed that you know what there is to know about the photographic industry."

She gave him a look of "yeah right" before glancing at the Polaroid's. She tilted it to the light and looked at the markings. "What did you need to know?" "Everything that you can tell me." She shrugged. "Its Aps film that's been processed on a Fuji Frontiers that has a VFP unit and a photo digital net hookup. Newer lab, on the east side."

"You know that just from the back?" he asked incredulous.

She shrugged. "Well the six digit code is the id number from the APS system. The Frontiers is one of the few hybrids that can do a mixed order, and there are only two of them in the orange county area. Each chain lab uses a twelve digit code to identify its location...and each different store chain uses a different brand of paper. So, tell me, what is this evidence for?"

"Murder, and blackmail. You said, Photo digital net... what's that?"

"Photo digital net takes your photos and places them on an internet file system. You can go to any location that has it, punch in your account, and get the photos reprinted from the digital file, without the negatives. If you want some retouching done, that can happen as often as you like. Most people send the access number to a relative, and they can order how many photos they need in what ever size, and they can do re touching at ether end."

"Can, they, take parts of one photo and put it on another?" he asked.

Taylor nodded, turned, and picked up a slim laptop computer off the bottom of the stand. She looked at him. "Do you want the rest of his photos?"

"Um... That's a sensitive area. I may need a search warrant to make it legal evidence in court. How, exactly do you know this information?"

She looked a bit surprised. "Of all the photo finishers in this area ,why me?"

The question caught him a bit off guard "Adam, the manager at the Woodrain Hotel said you would know everything... So, how, do you know this?"

She shrugged." Years in the industry. Had a really handsome photography teacher in college, and I was hooked. ...Adam huh? I'll have to have a word with him."

In Diana's room things were becoming settled. The hotel had brought Jessica a change of clothes for bed, and the police had taken her dress to be tested, to see if the blood on the sleeve matched the victim. Seth had kissed her good night, and in short order she was fast asleep. Diana stayed up for a while, waiting for word from Donald, or Tom. She bit her bottom lip and frowned, wondering if Donald had discussed the information she had received from the operative. She looked out at the city. The signal that there was information was the quick call to Anthony's cell phone. The words had been scrawled, in a code that she and Donald knew. Just after the second act had been begun, Tom's operative had discovered that the Goodfellow home in Cabot cove had been destroyed in a raging fire that they had no clue as to how it began.

In Anthony's room Seth sat in the near darkness with the last dredges of the coffee cup in his hand. Donald sat across the table from him, and the photos were on the table between them. Seth looked at the photos then up at Donald. "I'm her doctor, of course I have seen Jessica. And I do know her as intimately as you know your Miss Parks. If these photos would hit the tabloids, would it matter? Probably not. Peoples reaction ether would be shock that two old people can still have an intimate relationship, and the key word is OLD, or they may react as "eewwww! Gross" as my grand daughter would say...My question would be, If I was that intimate with Jessica, why would I still have my glasses on? I would love to know where the scars are from Jessica's back surgery, And her hip surgery..."

Donald held up his hand. "Uncle... Yes, we had a fair idea that the photos were retouched. In them selves, they are not the motive for the murder..."

Seth drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "Jessie said she knew the motive, but... I don't want to involve her in this Donald. It scares me too much to believe that she could be a target for this."

Anthony handed the phone to Taylor, who listened and nodded, then asked for a follow up written warrant for the company records. After she hung up, she turned on her computer and looked up as Anthony warned "These, photos, are- quite, sensitive."

Taylor's giggle surprised him. "Can't be any worse than c- section photos, or the one we do for the coroners office." It took a moment to get on line, and another before she could enter the photo file area. She frowned. "Password lockout... mmm...What's his last name? or his phone number. If the guy isn't too bright, he has to put one in that he can remember. My administrative codes can only get in so far... or..."

He heard the sound of her typing. Then, "Ah ha...oh..." Anthony saw her face go from triumph, to disgust. He moved over, picking up the dog and displacing it on to his lap to get closer to her and the computer screen. He saw a row of thumbnails, of a sight that sickened him.

She said dryly, "Well, yeah, I'd say two men in the cooler doing that… would qualify as a health code violation... Anyone you know?"

"Both of those men were found dead hours ago... are there more photos?"

She clicked at the bottom of the page. it brought up the photos of Jess and Seth. To his relief, the originals of both of them were very innocent. There was a few of an older lady, and man both naked that had been used as the bottom stock photos.

She saw the retouched ones and raised an eyebrow. "Your guy is a real prince... Most company's have a policy that they won't print this type of stuff. Gray area there... How- did you move Sydney?" She saw her dog quite comfortable on his lap.

"Well, Yes... Was I not supposed to?"

She shrugged. "Last man who went to move her ended up with 18 stitches. She must like you..." Her computer beeped urgently.

"What is it? What's going on?" Anthony asked leaning closer to her.

"yes" "He is so grounded..."She said flatly before continuing. "The lab is closed at this hour, and unless I miss my guess, someone at the lab is currently uploading photos to this site."

"Do they know that we are accessing the photos?" he asked concerned.

She shook her head then closed her eyes. " This isn't good. No one should be in the store at this hour, and using the equipment. I should thank you for bringing this to my attention, but on the other hand, I know the company isn't going to like the publicity that is going to follow..."She opened up her cell phone and hit the small numbers "This is Taylor Andrews, CDOM for F'Stop's Photo, we have an unauthorized use of our equipment at your mall, Please apprehend and detain all persons present in the store... We also need video surveillance tapes of that location after hours for the following last three days between 2:30am, and 5:20 am ...oh, Authorization code 347-74-3924 Alpha... Thank you." She hung up the phone and looked at him. "Well, That blows my Saturday off out of the water..."

He looked puzzled. "Why?"

"Someone has to cover the store." From my guess, The only one who should have the ability to do the retouching like this is the lab manager, unless the photographer knows how to work the equipment. even then, he isn't allowed to. The policy of the store is to not print photos of sensitive nature...Blackmail is about as near sensitive as you can get..."

Anthony nodded, the asked "So what are they uploading now?"

She clicked on the bottom of the screen and pulled up photos of Jessica, and Seth at the restaurant that evening. There were even a few wide shots that had Anthony in the background. Other shots she couldn't quite make out, and then there were shots of a young man on the bed, his eyes were wide, and afraid. His hands were bound in the next one, and the following shots showed a close up of his throat being cut. Taylor closed the lid of the laptop and covered her eyes with her hands. "Oh God..." she gasped.

Anthony put his arms around her and hugged her gently. "He isn't in pain anymore... the Dr. said that he died rather quickly...I'm so sorry you had to see that..." He heard a soft whine from Sydney. Anthony reached down and stroked Sydney's ear. "Its ok, Every thing will be ok..." he murmured.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Anthony nodded, the asked "So what are they uploading now?"_

_She clicked on the bottom of the screen and pulled up photos of Jessica, and Seth at the restaurant that evening. There were even a few wide shots that had Anthony in the background. Other shots she couldn't quite make out, and then there were shots of a young man on the bed, his eyes were wide, and afraid. His hands were bound in the next one, and the following shots showed a close up of his throat being cut. Taylor closed the lid of the laptop and covered her eyes with her hands. "Oh God..." she gasped._

_Anthony put his arms around her and hugged her gently. "He isn't in pain anymore... the Dr. said that he died rather quickly...I'm so sorry you had to see that..." He heard a soft whine from Sydney. Anthony reached down and stroked Sydney's ear. "Its ok, Every thing will be ok..." he murmured. _

Morning came with a drenching rain and a chilling fog that curled about the city. Anthony took the steps to the hotel's third floor two at a time. The Mall security had arrived to discover that the equipment was still up and running, but no one was in the lab itself. There was no indication of a break in- The police were called in to dust for fingerprints. The parent company wanted to play it very close to the vest until the police let them know otherwise.

Jessica woke gently, and looking to the main area of the room. She saw Diana crossing the room to answer the door. Anthony entered the room with a broad grin. "We've had a break in the case. We're waiting on surveillance tapes, and an arrest should be forthcoming soon."

Jess sat up in the bed. "For which murder?"

Anthony looked at her "Well, for both of them. The mater'd and the waiter were killed by the blackmailer, which we know to be Martin Goodfellow..."

Jessica was shocked "Martins a blackmailer? What blackmail? Who was the subject of the blackmail?"

Anthony felt a bit uncomfortable. "Well, we've evidence that indicates that you were the next person, and we have intercepted photos that we know were retouched that are, sensitive in nature." Jess shook her head. "What makes you think it is Martin? He is a wonderful photographer, and has a flourishing business... Sondra! in all of the turmoil, we forgot to check up on Sondra! is she all right? "

Anthony shook his head. " We don't know. She went to the hotel after dinner, then left the hotel with her bags, and hasn't been seen since. Martin hasn't returned to the room, nor has been seen by any of those who have been following him since he left the restaurant. Some photos were discovered in your room that we know were to be used by the blackmailer. We discovered the location where the photos were reproduced, and we have a direct link to the murder...why? unless you have other information?"

Jessica leaned back on her pillow and pulled the covers up a bit

."Just that its possible that the waiter saw the murder of the mater'd and was killed to be silenced- by someone who wants the irony of a murder to happen in a murder mystery writers room..." Jess hung her head. "I tend to stumble over so much of this, people have come to think I could be responsible for the deaths...How - why do you feel Martin is a blackmailer?"

Anthony shifted on the bed. "One of his "subjects" came forward and gave evidence that he had to pay blackmail to Martin, and that he knew that you were the intended target."

Jessica arched her eyebrows "So, it wasn't by chance that you made contact with Sondra in the restaurant?"

He nodded "Oh, that was 100 chance, though I suspect that she did something just to use an excuse to get out of there. She was terrified."

Jess nodded. "Something was upsetting her .But it isn't like her to just run away like that."

Anthony continued. "We learned about the hotel and the tickets, and made arrangements to have you and Seth followed,.. Martin Goodfellow has blackmailed many people. We discovered his files last night, and there are photos from the murder as well in those files." Anthony's cell phone rang urgently. He answered it curious." Hello?"

Even Jess could hear the ladies voice at the other end -quite upset though she couldn't quite make out the words.

Anthony listened. Jess saw the confidence on his turn into sadness. "I'll be there shortly..."Twenty minutes later at F' Stop Photo he saw Taylor speaking with inspector Taggart. She had Sydney tucked in her arms. She told Anthony "Sydney found him in the storage area...He's alive...So who is this bastard?" Anthony escorted Taylor over to the side of the lab while the paramedics took Greg Simmon's out on the stretcher. He had been locked in the storage area were they kept the paper and the chemicals. It was an airtight area that had humidity control. There were only smeared finger prints on the handle, nothing definite. Taylor had informed the paramedic to conceder the young man under arrest, and that they would be hearing from the company's lawyers as to what was to be done with him. Beyond short term o2 depravation ,the young man was unhurt. Given enough time, yes, he would have passed out completely and suffocated, but he wasn't in any real danger until that time. Taylor closed the gate and locked up the store front. She turned to Anthony.

"Look, whoever dropped off the photos, the film, and the generic bag is still here...That in itself doesn't make any sense if they were going to take the time to lock him up before fleeing."

"Your thinking, the person left them, and will be back? Then how did he get in the storage area?"

She shrugged. "Easy, crawl in and pull the door closed behind you. except, he didn't know there isn't a latch on the inside to open it... It suggests allot of things. and I'm not to comfortable any of them... He can't say that he was on the schedule last night and stayed over, because he is off this weekend as a four day week end..."

: "Well, that means there is someone coming in to open the store. Which is - when?" "In an hour the mall opens to the walkers, and we open in two for sales... Your thinking the person will come back for the film? I'm not inclined to let my people come in contact with a murderer. AND your people have dust everywhere. This entire lab has to be cleaned from top to bottom before we can open it up to any one."

Anthony looked at the officers that were still spraying the fine powder for dusting about. "It will take the boys about a half hour to finish here, any where we can get a cup of whatever you gave me last night?"

She nodded and lead him back to the office. There was a coffee pot with water still hot in it and two mugs. One she knew was Greg's, the other they kept on hand for company.

"You may want to dust that one for prints..." she said pointing to the mug. She turned to Anthony. "Lets walk up to the mall office. We need to speak with the security office, and I know they have a pot of something brewing."

Jessica and her things were moved to another room and for the first time had a moment to be alone. Seth had let her know about the photos, and she felt a flush over her at the thought of them. His voice had been tender, and apologetic, and the look in his eyes showed that if there had been any thoughts of it before... well, the thoughts were in the open for all to see. Not that that's what she had wanted, but there were moments that she missed with her husband. She suspected Seth had the same feelings about his wife Ruth as well. A flashing light on her telephone interrupted her thoughts. She picked it up and pushed the buttons to retrieve the message.

To her surprise it was Sondra. Her voice was ragged on the phone speakers "Jess, I'm sorry. I can't stop him from hurting you, but I can stop him from hurting the people he had before. I really like having you as a friend, and neighbor. I can't go back, there's nothing for me to go back too .If I stayed with Martin any longer, it would be the death of me..."(a catch of a sob) " He - none of my family would believe me when I told them about the beatings he gave me. And his mother said "If I was the proper wife, he wouldn't have to correct me..." That's not even a good excuse; I was the proper, perfect wife for my husband. We had the perfect home, and (another sob, her voice becoming ragged) I just can't take it any more... I couldn't leave and not tell someone, not and have Martin just sit back and play wounded husband... Don't sign any thing from him Jess, don't be like the others, you won't ever stop paying for it..." The call ended with another sob, and then a click. There was a hum, and then an operators recorded voice said "Charges 3.75 for 2minuteswill be billed to your account at Sky View Hotel at 4:30 am..."

Jess set the receiver down and grabbed her coat and purse. She ran to the door that adjoined their two rooms and knocked on it. He opened it up and looked at her. He wore a faint blush still, and almost couldn't make eye contact. "Where is Donald and Diana?" she asked softly. He pointed with his thumb at the room that connected to his.

He saw the look in her eyes and stepped into her room. "Something tells me you don't want to involve them just yet..."

She nodded "I know where Sondra is, and we had better get to her soon... I just hope that the murderer didn't have the same thought that I did!"

Seth grabbed his coat and ducked through Jesses room to the hall outside. They strode down the hall to the stairs and slipped down them to the lobby. Seth hailed a cab for them and in a moment they were on their way to the Sky View. Donald and Diana didn't discover till later that they were gone, and only Adam at the front desk mentioned that he had seen them get a cab earlier. As they wondered why they would leave, and ask if they had any incoming calls, Adam shook his head, and said only the one message that had come in about4:30 that morning, and they had forwarded to her new room number.

Seth held Jessica's hand during the drive to the hotel. The message was several hours old and Jess had only said that if they didn't act now, Sondra may move on. His watch said 8:45 as the cab pulled into the parking lot. Seth gave the cabbie his fair, and let him know they would be having a return fair shortly. It took a moment to get the room number from the desk clerk.

Sondra heard the knock, and looked through the peephole. She saw Jess, and Seth, both looking very concerned for her. Reluctantly she opened the door and let them in. Her eyes were red from crying and with her arms bare. Seth could see the deep angry bruises on her upper arms and showing they continued to her chest.

He said to her, almost as a scolding parent would ."Sondra, all this time you were saying you were clumsy, and it was from Martin?"

She nodded, then sat on her bed and began to cry again. Jessica sat beside her and gathered her into her arms. "I had to... Martin- no one would believe me - he is such a gentle man with every one else, and I kept trying to be what he wanted me to be... and I thought if I just got away from him I would be alright, but it woke me last night, and I had to warn you..."

Seth said gently. "He won't ever hurt you again. Child, if you would have told me, I would have made sure that it stopped and helped you get protection from him, and get him out of your life...right then and there!"

Sondra looked at him. "And then what? Where would I have gone? A woman's shelter? How long would that have lasted with him looking for me and him wanting to- "Teach me to mind him?" Jess saw the utter hopelessness in her eyes. Sondra continued. "So many times people say, "Just leave." Its not ever that simple. I had to learn for myself that It wasn't anything that I was doing, or not doing that was the cause, and then its passed as, he is "sick." It's not a sickness, it's, it's- his habit. Controlling people and things. Controlling me. Even if it meant hurting me. It's why I had to leave him..."

Jessica saw the dress from the evening before carefully washed and near dry. The clerk at the desk had informed Seth that she had arrived early in the evening, and stayed in her room Jess asked her quietly "Is that why you set your home on fire to prevent him from continuing to blackmail people?"

Sondra, startled looked at Jess, guilt written on her face. "How- what do you mean?" she gasped.

"Sondra, your home in Cabot cove was destroyed in a fire, that they suspect was arson. You didn't know that a private investigator was watching you place the call to your home, and according to the fire marshal, sent the signal to the device that started the fire..."

"From a phone call? That's impossible!" Sondra shook her head in denial.

Seth, leaned against the wall, and waited. He didn't know of any fire marshal report, but, Jess had her knack of uncovering the truth. "The signal was activated by the answering machine. I know mine, if I forget to turn it on, and someone calls, will automatically pick up after several rings. You used this feature, didn't you? Sondra, your husband didn't keep his negatives at the house. he kept them on the internet where he could access them at anyplace and have as many copies as he needed."

Sondra crumpled into a ball and began to cry softly, hugging herself with her arms. " I won't ever be free of him... I won't- not till the day that I die and even then I won't!

"Yes, you will Sondra...Every thing will work out.." Said Seth softly. He went to her, took her hand, and said "Right now, you have to come with us. Don't worry, You'll be safe from Martin... and we will get this all straightened up."

I can't go back... I can't..."

Seth drew her up to her feet. "You won't have to. You will only go forward...Come along M'dear.."

Anthony waited in the back room of the F' Stop Photo store watching the split video screen. Half of it was the people coming and going out of the store. The other half were the tapes from the security office of the after hour people who came and went into the store. Taylor had let her company CEP know, and was given the police photographer to work as the counter help in the store. A blanket warrant to search the web storage site was granted, and more blackmail photos were uncovered under the different names of the people he had been blackmailing.

The telephone rang in the office softly .Taylor answered it then handed it to Anthony. She gathered Sydney from the back desk before she had a chance to dip her muzzle into Anthony's drink, then went out with her to the front counter placing Sydney on a corner of the counter and telling her to stay. A rush of people had entered into the store, and Raphael was becoming overwhelmed with requests to have the one-hour process for the film. It was a crazy rush to fill the orders, get them in order and ready for processing.

Taylor didn't notice one of the customers standing off to the side watching every thing going on until Sydney gave a low growl in her throat. The growl was low, and deep enough that the sensitive mike that was hidden near the register could pick it up and alert Anthony that there was something amiss. Sydney stayed put on the corner of the counter, and just looked at the man, growling. When Taylor looked at him, she knew him to be Martin Goodfellow.

He looked tired, and as if he had spent the night on a park bench. He stepped up to the other side of the counter, away from Sydney and handed Raphael his claim check for his photos. He had to dig in his pocket for his wallet, and placed his camera on the counter in the process. Taylor glanced at the camera, and saw a dark fingerprint in brown on the side of the camera. She drew in her breath sharply.

Martin saw her look at the camera, his expression froze on his face . "What are you looking at?" he snapped at her a half second before Sydney launched herself snarling at Martins throat. He staggered back and fell to the floor. From his pockets fell several more rolls of film... He found himself being flipped over and handcuffed as his face pressed into the cold tile floor before being hoisted to his feet in an undignified manor and the words of his rights ringing in his ears.

Martin sat on the stiff, straight-backed chair in the interrogation room of the police station. He had thought about all the ways that he could make the owner of the dog pay for the "Attack" by the dog but the gun falling out of his pocket didn't help matters for him. Nor did the fact that the film he had on him were the negative from his last blackmail job. He couldn't figure how they were on to him, but the look that chick gave his camera told him that there was some far more serious things going down than black mail. He wondered to himself if his "loving wife" had decided to tell the world what a monster he was, not that she could prove anything, None of anything that they had on him could be proved any way

Anthony sat in the observation room watching Martin sit coolly at the table . Inspector Taggart came in with a sheet of paper, a grim smile of satisfaction on his face. "There was blood on the inside of the camera as well, and it matches the Dna. of the mater'd of the restaurant.

" Has he said anything? We have him on that one at least. The fingerprint on the outside doesn't match ether of the victims, or Martin... Which begs the question who killed the waiter? Who put us on to this character anyway?"

Taggart shrugged. "One of his former "clients." called it in as an anonymous tip. We only had word that he was blackmailing people. Now we do have the evidence

Anthony shook his head. "No, we only have photos of people that haven't come forward, and this last one refused to sign the release form. Yes, we have the blood in the camera, but we don't know how it got in there, and we can't prove that he did anything wrong..."

Taggart studied him. "You should be angry, but you can't be ,because of how your heart feels for her at this moment...am I right? That doesn't help you solve this case, does it?... And her dog likes you too, That's a definite sign this is for keeps.

Anthony turned in his chair and slowly stood up. "You, old man, are a hopeless romantic." Anthony wore a schooled smile, knowing that his old friend was quite right. There was a knock on the door and then it opened before Jessica entered. Seth was behind her looking very grim.

Behind them ,was Donald who said to Anthony. "Mrs. Fletcher found Sondra Goodfellow. She's in protective custody, and receiving medical treatment for physical abuse... Looks like Martin isn't the sweet guy after all..."

Jessica looked at Donald. "A murderer seldom wears a sign saying "I murder people"... But I have a feeling, I know who the other murderer is..."

Seth looked at Martin. "Um, Jessie dear, there is your murderer, right there..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_Taggart studied him. "You should be angry, but you can't be ,because of how your heart feels for her at this moment...am I right? That doesn't help you solve this case, does it?... And her dog likes you too, That's a definite sign this is for keeps. _

_Anthony turned in his chair and slowly stood up. "You, old man, are a hopeless romantic." Anthony wore a schooled smile, knowing that his old friend was quite right. There was a knock on the door and then it opened before Jessica entered. Seth was behind her looking very grim. _

_Behind them ,was Donald who said to Anthony. "Mrs. Fletcher found Sondra Goodfellow. She's in protective custody, and receiving medical treatment for physical abuse... Looks like Martin isn't the sweet guy after all..."_

_Jessica looked at Donald. "A murderer seldom wears a sign saying "I murder people"... But I have a feeling, I know who the other murderer is..."_

Seth looked at Martin. "Um, Jessie dear, there is your murderer, right there..."

She shook her head. "There wasn't enough time for him to commit both of the murders. The one at the hotel was carefully laid out, and happened just after the second act began. There wasn't enough time for Martin to kill the mater'd, hide his body, clean up, get to the hotel with the waiter, spread out the false clues and murder the waiter before we came back from the play. If he was in the lobby, we would have noticed him. The bloody hand-print was of the waiters blood. There wasn't any sign of Martin in the lobby when the lights came up "

So, who killed the waiter then?" Asked Donald.

Jess looked down and said softly. "It could have only been the person that had access to the photos that were meant to black mail Seth and myself. The young man Greg Simmon's.. .My guess is that he recognized who I was and decided to jump at the chance to make some more extra money. When he heard the security people coming he placed himself in the storage closet and became stuck in there. Is Martin guilty of murder? That we can prove- I don't know. But I have an idea that may work..."and it may take the same technology that he was using to blackmail people with..."

"Your thinking is close to entrapment Jessie... or are you planning to do some blackmail yourself?" warned Seth.

Jess shook her head. "All that we need should be in the negatives found on Martin... Though, I understand confession is good for the soul…" It was several hours later that Jessica strode into the hospital room where Greg Simmon's lay in the hospital bed watching Tv. He wore a smug grin on his face as he sipped the tall icy glass of ice tea. he knew he could play on the sympathies of the nurses, and "getting hurt on the job" was as great as a retirement plan. He almost choked when he saw who it was coming into his room, but composed himself and flashed her a "pity me I'm helpless look." He saw she held an envelope under her arm.

" Well I see your feeling much better Mr. Simmon's, shows what some good rest can do after a busy night..."

He flushed "Pardon, do I know you Ma'am?" Jessica nodded. "It seems so, seeing how you were in my hotel room last night leaving photos for me... Photos that you doctored up..."

His flush deepened. "Hey, I only printed them that's all, its my job to print up photos..." She shook her head. "There are laws preventing printing up Blackmail photos Mr. Simmon's. There are laws against blackmail, and murder. Two murders happened last night. One, in the restaurant's kitchen, one in a room at the Woodrain Hotel hotel. You were there, and saw the first murder happen .In the struggle, Martins camera fell out of his pocket, and onto the floor into the blood. You wiped it off, and took it, and the waiter who had come in and seen the murder as well to keep him quite. You didn't know you were going to kill him at first, but did, and photographed it in hopes that you could implicate someone else with the photos.. "

"You can't prove any of this..." chuckled Greg.

Jess opened the envelope slowly. "Ah, but the police have... You see, the hotel has surveillance cameras in every hall so that they can see the coming and goings of the hotel. Both of you are seen entering my room... I believe the photos speak for themselves... Martin discovered his camera gone, but he knew that you had it, so he waited outside the mall until you came, and gave him back his camera. You both went into the back entrance of the mall, and you even made him coffee while you waited for the film to develop before you downloaded them to the website. Martin left you there to look for his wife, and when you heard the security guards come, you placed yourself in the storage closet. You didn't know it latched only from the outside, trapping you. You made several mistakes Greg, the first, though you had no way of knowing, That when you paid for the letter opener with the copy of Seth's credit card, the sales person remembered the transaction, and described you. Seth is well past retirement. You hardly fit his description. The second mistake was to allow you photos of why Martin was blackmailing you to remain on the web server. It wasn't too hard for the police to match up people with names after the judge issued a search warrant. The third was coming in on your day off to do this work. They've checked the schedules and discovered that you have asked for these four day weekends as often as Martin has come into town, and the entry's into the computer matched your log in codes, with those dates. Last, the bloody hand print you left on my arm, bears your fingerprints with the waiters blood..."

He shook his head "I was wearing latex gloves... I practice safe photos.." He stopped and his face changed from the pity me to a smoldering anger "You still have no proof... your wasting my time here..." he smirked. Jess pulled the photos from the envelope.

"The Aps print format is unique with its three sizes, and with the thinner film, lends its self to very fine detail that can be blown up with out loss of clarity. It wasn't difficult for the lab to rescan all the photos, and in the small photo, of the knife slitting the waiters throat there isn't much to see, but when they enlarged the surface of the knife they found your ..."

She saw him lunge towards her his hands reaching for her throat to throttle her "You -! I should have killed you instead of him! The door burst open and Inspector Taggart entered with a gun pointed at Greg.

"Thank you , that's all we needed... Smile, for the camera..." Taggart said pointing to a piece of medical equipment Greg thought was just an IV pole and monitor. On the side was mounted a small remote camera

Jess walked out of the hospital room and down the hall feeling very old just then. Sometimes there was no sense to violence. She walked faster, away from the hospital room. This entire matter brought up feelings that she wasn't ready to face. She went around the corner and smacked into someone head on. The person caught her and steadied her on her feet. She looked up, and saw that it was the same man from the lobby, and her husbands death bed. He smiled gently and asked "Are you all right?"

Jess nodded, trembling. "I - yes, I think so... Who are you? Why are you here?" There was a tenderness on his face for her. "Just doing my job, and a favor...Everything will be

all right now." Jess closed her eyes for a second to nod, and when she opened

them the young man was gone. She found the nearest chair and sat down in it.

Seth found her there a bit later. He was full of excitement and fairly bubbled to her. "They got a full confession from Martin, and that young man Simmons's... and, it seems our Mr. Thomas the people person has perhaps found a young lady to occupy his time with... Sondra has filed the papers for divorce, and the fire marshal has ruled the fire as faulty wiring... Guess this could be called a Photo Finish...Jessie, are you ok?"

Jessica looked up at Seth. There were tears in her eyes. "I miss Frank, Seth. I miss the way he smells, his snoring at night, all the things that we shared for so short of time. There are times that I fold up the memories and tuck them safe away, and then there are times that I wonder if I will forget how his laughter sounded... I wonder if there would ever be a day that I would need to seek the same comfort he gave me from another man...and that though scares me the most...that and never being loved again."

Seth held his hand out to her and guided her to her feet. "Jessica Beatrice MacGill Fletcher. I do truly love you. As does Mort, and Floyd, and Andy, and that nephew Grady, and ALL the Fletcher clan and the MacGill clan, and every one who's life you have touched. You are not alone and you have more people who love you than you can count to! ... I know what your heart is going through, and I know why. I know just the thing to cure it too...We both need an afternoon nap. After all, we will need all our energy when we go dancing tonight..."

Jess shook her head and squeezed his hand. "I would rather we spend the evening together, remembering Ruth, and Frank..." Seth's eyes tear for a moment, then he kissed Jessica on the lips softly. "I do love you Jess." She nodded "As I love you." Arm and arm they walked down the halls of the hospital pausing briefly at the window of the gift shop that happened to have Jessica's latest book next to one of a new author in the non fiction section Dr. Razanur She resisted the urge to go in and see how the books were selling, and continued with Seth walking into the warmth of the afternoon sun. It seemed the rain was over for now. Later this would only be an unpleasant memory. She looked at Seth. Well, there were something's about this trip she didn't want to ever forget.. Tomorrow they would return home to the quiet of Cabot cove and put this all behind them.


	5. Chapter 5

Tabhairt Isteach Do

Disclaimer. I don't own the characters that are found in Murder She Wrote TV series, or in the book form. They are the property of someone else. I do own the characters that I created. The character of Dr. Tipper Henderson has been created by Anne, and is used with her permission. To read more about the adventures of Tipper, Google Murder She Wrote and go to the "Definitive Guide to Murder She Wrote."

This story has been modified since its first release, the original version is found on Anne's site and in the yahoo MSW web site. This story (Tabhairt Isteach Do ) is several stories within one, starting with Picture Perfect Murder. This is the second installment, The Ghost of Preston Giles, and will be followed by Murder by Trust, and the ones that continue the adventure. It was broken up into chapters and placed on Fanfiction as such to make it easier to read.

_This story is rated for 13+_

_Mild Pg (language)_

_THE GHOST OF PRESTON GILES_

_Written By Kats & AKD (c) 2002_

_(continuing Picture perfect Murder and the _Tabhairt Isteach Do story,)

**Chapter Five**

Jessica sat in silence at her kitchen table, her eyes closed as Seth dabbed at the abrasion on her temple. He was upset, and in the mood to give her a firm lecture that he felt she aptly deserved. It wasn't often that he did, more so it happened when she did something that was dangerous.

"Fool stunt if you ask me, Mort's non too happy bout it ether. That shop owners very kind not to press charges against you."

The shop, Nightshade having opened it's doors a few weeks ago was one that she supposed every town would in time get- and hopefully would close it's doors in short order. No one in the town really needed to buy cursed coffin nails or bits of grave dirt. – well, at least those in their right mind. There was a chill about that place- something that screamed that something was very wrong with the going's on of the shop, and those who worked it.

Jessica knew that the lecture would continue even if she did say something. She knew that pursuing an idle thought could be risky. It was a hunch, something more than just sales to tourist were happening at a new store in town. She tried to tell Mort her suspicions, he had let her know that he had personally seen every scrap of merchandise that they were selling, and nothing that they had was even remotely illegal. It was too small of a building to hide any thing, and he had been in the building before it was a shop, he knew every possible corner that there could hide anything. There was still the feeling that she got. Something that kept telling her that something very wicked was going to happen if the shop was allowed to stay open. People seemed to be changing after they became steady customers there. Some were becoming more irritable, some, very distracted. Even after the brief visit inside the first time Jess felt as if her world was spinning. She had tried to tell that to Seth, he accounted it to her demanding schedule to finish her last book, "Deaths Dance of the Marionettes."

Maybe her curiosity got the better of her. Going in the back way seemed like a great idea at the time. She never saw the dog, before, or after it knocked her down and out. She wasn't even aware they had a dog. She woke hand cuffed to the desk, and a lump on the side of her head. The owner had used very strong language about her, and said that she had excessively much too much time on her hands to keep seeing things when nothing was going on. But she knew she had heard another mans voice in the background when the shop keeper had insisted it was just he and his female companion who lived in residence next to the shop. He had been speaking to the shop keeper in terse angry words saying something in reference to an audit, and that the quality of product would improve as they would move to the next level. There was also something about an initiation, and gathering that would happen with in the month. More would come, and Cabot Cove was the chosen "haven." That's when the Dog" had attacked her.

Mort had strongly suggested a vacation. Seth was in total agreement. She only mutely shook her head at the thought of leaving her beloved Cabot Cove to the likes of who knows what. Seth tried to reason with her. "There is no crime in taking a vacation!"

Silence, a pause, a sigh.

"Seth - each time I do, some one dies.

"That's preposterous Jess, and you know it!" Jess looked out the window in the distance She could just see the tip flags of the twin ships coming into the dock. She sighed as a sea gull flew into her yard and landed near her rose bushes. She could see something in its mouth It dropped it, then pecked at it a few times. Seth drew her back to the conversation.

"People are murdered even if you're not there, it happens here as well."

"It's not the same Seth! I like the idea of being able to leave my doors unlocked and waking up in my own bed. I – something is telling me that if I walk away from this, I won't be able to do that. "

"You're seeing things Jessica Beatrice MacGill Fletcher and imagining things that are not there. You need to get away Jess, just a while, and leave the writing alone. The schedule that you placed yourself under to finish the books before catalogs come out is detrimental to your health, and mental stability!. You said yourself that they want another before Christmas. As your dr I am diagnosing you as being burned out. I am going to let that publishing company know that there will not be a book from you until your better. "

"I am not "burned out." Seth raised an eyebrow daringly.

"Are so!"

"Am not!" she said firmly

"Are so!" Seth waited as she glared at him. She was not amused. "Seth, I'm not as burned out as you believe..." She stopped, realizing her own admission. "Oh dear." Seth waited, allowing her to speak with her own decisions. "I don't want to go on vacation, Seth,

I would rather just stay here to rest."

"You would still find yourself meddling Jess. Its in your nature, and staying here would only allow you to get involved in something else. You need to keep to yourself and ignore the outside world and its problems. Your not to work on any books, and your to stay out of every one else's business

"Seth, I can't just sit here and just shut the world out!"

"That M'dear is EXACTLY what I want you to do, and it will be arranged." He went to the closet and pulled out an empty box. He went to her laptop and disconnecting it, placed it in the box. He did the same with her manual typewriter. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure that you take a vacation! Everything remotely connected with writing is going to be placed in storage in an undisclosed area until I say so."

She was about to protest then stopped short. "All right, but what will I do?" She asked, folding her arms over her chest, while following him about the house as he collected all her note pads, and writing utensils. She managed to rescue her favorite gold pen from the box, not being sure if he saw it, or just let her get away with it. She knew that in the attic she had one or two notebooks that were from when she taught and passed them out for the student essays. To her relief, he didn't venture up the stairs of death' to retrieve them.

"Any thing, except work. You did have a life before you started writing, a fairly active one as I remember. You need to do what you did before you became a writer..." He saw the hurt, and quick tears etch on her face, as if he had stabbed her. She turned away from him, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill out. "Jessie? What is it? Oh... I see... You started writing so you wouldn't have to face Frank's death. I don't know if you ever have- or if you have spent the last years just hiding behind doing other things. You filled your hours with the writings. Well, Your life went on with out him, Jessie MacGill, you had a life before Frank Fletcher. You need to find one now that he is gone. He turned her to face him. He saw the tears were still on the edge and that he was a shy step away from endangering the friendship, they had known for years. "We have had this discussion before, you know my feelings about it Jessica.

Her voice was tight. His words had hurt her, but she didn't want to say any thing more than necessary.

"How long will this be?""

"Until I say so, It may be a very long time, but its in your best interest.

"And who's else's?" Jessica thought to herself as she watched Seth carry the box to his car. She resisted the urge to just slam the door behind him. She leaned her head against the cool wood and allowed her emotions a quiet moment.

Taylor Andrews tapped her foot to the soft music that played in la county's district attorneys office. Anthony was on the phone and she could hear the irritation in his voice. She heard the click of the receiver and strode into the office. His face was grim - she knew that it was bad news.

"Close the door, thanks..."

"What? We leave in 6 hours, we need to get you packed, and both of us to the airport. " She reached behind her and firmly closed the door making sure that it clicked shut. That in itself was different. In the year that they had been seeing each other they had all ways spoken in the open as secretary's tongues wag like puppy dog tails when it came to possible scandals. He closed his eyes rubbing his chin wondering how he could put this nicely.

"One of the key witnesses in the Nightshade Vs the state of California case has disappeared. His name is Kent Fordham. We know that he was too valuable for them to kill, we think he has fled, or that they paid him to take off. We're under two deadlines. One, the states, and the other is stopping this before its too late. He hinted that something, very – big was going to happen within the month, something that would be our worst nightmares look like a day in the park unless we could stop it. The parent company Sutton house is crying foul as well, unless we can find where he is soon, we will have a larger problem on our hands."

"Which means?"

"I have to do a bit more scrambling or were going to lose to this organization. It scares me how they can move into a quiet community, and bring so much death, and then shrug and say if the people are stupid they deserve it. It scares me even more that no matter how hard we work, we may not be able to stop it…"

"A fool and his latinum is soon parted."

"His what? oh... well, it means that I can't be going on vacation just yet, I may not be able to at all. We can't even begin to estimate what damage this organization has in mind if they are not stopped."

"Anthony, this is my only chance to get away and may be my last vacation. The tickets are non refundable, We lose the deposit on the rooms, and its based on TWO people going, not just one!. There isn't any one else that I would want to travel with, and You are well aware that I need someone to help me get on and off those flying deathtraps. I know it may seem very- trite in light of what is happening. I understand that this is very important to you and the city, and the state. Maybe it should be important to me. Maybe I am being selfish to want you beside me. I need to do this, and I can't do it by myself. "

"Sweet heart, I had Mabel make alternate arrangements for you, and its taken care of. She spoke with the airlines to have a chair stand by if you needed it, and a driver to take you to the hotel. Every thing is within walking distance. and its a SHORT walking distance.

Portland's airport is very small. Our courtrooms are larger! You will be pampered and cared for...and as soon as I can get to join you I will..."

"What's this guy look like any way?" Taylor asked as she tried to fight back the tears. Anthony was curious as he flipped open a file. He seemed distracted for a moment as he shuffled the papers back into order. She saw a variety of photos in the folder, some quite plain, others very nasty.

"Why do you ask?"

"So I can hunt him down and shrink wrap his scrawny hide to a pillar so he won't screw up our lives anymore.."

Anthony rose from his chair and walked over to her. He drew her into his arms. She stepped up to him and raised her face to his. "It means that we won't have to put Sydney in a kennel, and when I'm done, we will join you, and they are open ended tickets, so we can, stay a bit longer…" He gave her a light kiss on her lips. The moment

was interrupted by a call from Mabel, his secretary. He sighed and sat back down on the chair to answer the phone.

Taylor bent over, gave him a wet kiss on his ear, then strode out, silently cursing this Kent Fordham that had ruined the vacation with Anthony she had been so looking forward to. As she walked by Mabel's desk, she thought she saw a smug look on the secretary's face. Maybe Taylor should have known when the limo transport didn't show up two hours before the flight as scheduled. She had a back up transport planned, and a quick call to the limo place confirmed that the transport had been canceled. She still arrived in enough time, and went to the curbside check in. She had insisted on booking her own tickets, she had them and had confirmed them herself that morning.

She discovered that her direct flight had been switched to several layovers and was going to take another 10 hours of air time with several stops in between. Taylor's voice hardened as she asked to see the manager in charge. She only told him once, showing him her heavy Medical Id bracelet, and the release from the dr. allowing her to fly under the conditions that it couldn't exceed a number of hours in flight. He reconfirmed the confirmation number and informed her the flight had been changed less than an hour before at her request. He went on to say that to change it back at this time would cost her

several hundred dollars. Taylor asked quietly if the person had given them the confirmation number to authorize this flight change. There was a moment as the managers fingers flew over the keyboard. His face paled as he shook his head.

"Then you changed my flight with out proper confirmation from me? And you expect me to meekly say ok, when such an act could, and would put my life in danger? I don't think SO! I want my seat, on the flight that I booked, and paid for, and I want it NOW! And YOU WILL be hearing from my Lawyer!"

The airlines manager nodded to the security officers who stepped forward. "Could you come with us ma'am?"

"Why?"

The men looked at each other then the other officer said to her. "We just need to ask a few questions if you don't mind."

"But, I do mind, and (She checked her watch) I really do not have time for this."

She turned back to the manager. "Fix this, Right NOW!" Taylor felt a hand on her arm. It was the younger of the two officers. She removed her cell phone from her pocket and punched in quick dial. "Donald Brook Please. Yes, Donald, I am being detained by airport security. No, they haven't arrested me. Seems they accepted an unauthorized request to change my flight… Of course..."She reached for the telephone book, flipped open the lawyers add and pointed to Donald's number "I suggest that you cal this number right now, and tell your boys to unhand me at once."

Half an hour later Taylor was sitting in her original seat. Breathing a sigh of relief. What ever Donald had said, it had made the Manager blanch. She closed her eyes s the plane taxied down the runway, and wondered what else could go wrong with the trip. She looked down at the heavy medical alert bracelet on her wrist. She had met Anthony last year over a horrid murder, and in the months that had followed were a whirlwind romance that left her breathless. She never realized, how breathless until one day in court that she'd slipped into see him and ended up waking up in a hospital bed with the drs shaking their head over her. They had informed her, she had to change how she lived, what she did, and that hope for recovery was slim. It was Anthony who suggested going to Cabot Cove Maine to relax and visit with old friends, and perhaps, then away from the prying eyes of his staff and the public, have time together to make decisions about the future.

Dr. Tipper Henderson listened with half interest as word at the local grocery buzzed that Jessica Fletcher was pretty much on her own. No one was to bother her and it was sort of like the old fashioned Amish "Shunning" Seth didn't say for how long, only that NO ONE was to call her, as she needed a LONG rest. Of course every one had been telling Seth how tired Jessica looked. She heard the voices fall silent as Jessica came into view. Tipper saw an older man walking with Jessica, he had his arm about her shoulders and gave it a squeeze as they passed the hushed ladies. She saw a look of tenderness in his eyes as he murmured something into her ear. Now that in itself was a puzzlement to Tipper, She knew most every one who lived in Cabot cove. The man was not from the area, he dressed way too cool, and impractical, a business suit just wouldn't keep you warm against the Maine Chill. She noticed a splash of brown on the suit as well, had to have had lunch at the docks, The barbecue sauce was a tough one to get out

Taylor couldn't understand how on a direct flight, the major airlines could lose her luggage. All she had was her carry on, and a claim stub to wear for the next three weeks. She had her meds with her. She was so angry at the entire thing she wanted to spit nails. She had, however, taken out insurance, and they would replace her missing items, but that would have to wait until they knew where her bag went, or that she hadn't tried to commit fraud. One young eagle eyed attendant insisted that her bags did come to Portland, and swung about the screen to show Taylor. Almost smug in the fact that the

bags were safe and had arrived at the destination. Taylor resisted the urge to pull the attendants perky tie apart as she pointed to the code following the baggage number,

"Where is that?"

"Portland Oregon." she said with a smile.

Taylor having a hard time from it all asked her. "And pray tell me child- where are we?"

"Portland Maine."

"Then why, would you send my bags to Portland Oregon, and me to Portland Maine?"

"Well we can't help if you got on the wrong airplane..."

Somehow Taylor knew that the limo driver wouldn't be there. Portland's airport was small, but it did have taxies and for the money, the driver was willing to go the 35 miles, (she had him tell her the rates BEFORE she got in.)

The view from Hill House was spectacular. Waves crashed on the shore below and the wind whipped the breath from her lips. The hotel's wrap around porch held sturdy wicker chairs with large potted plants about that lent a splash of color to the drab paint of the old Victorian house. Taylor paused upon hearing the clang of wind chimes. She looked and saw a metal triangle bell that had an infinity sign cut out of the metal on all three sides. The clapper of the bell was a second solid infinity sign as well. Taylor fumbled with the latch then strode into the near empty lobby to the desk where the manager stood. He seemed a bit put out to see her.

Hill house didn't have her room reservation ether. They had received the cancellation just the hour before. Taylor wanted to scream. She had paid for the trip with a check that she waved in front of the managers nose and demanded the money back. They could issue her a check in three weeks, when it cleared. Taylor took a breath, then started to yell at the person. Her check HAD cleared, they had her money, and how could she have canceled the room when she was in flight, and why would she? She needed the room. She had paid for the room, and she was going to get the room. She was told that they were booked solid with the leaf peepers.

She shook her head. "If it was just canceled an hour ago, then how could it have been

taken so quickly? I arrived before the time indicated to guarantee the room, and the whole stay here has been pre paid!"

"Well they over booked this weekend..." he began.

"Not my problem, and it WILL be your problem with the state trade commissions department!" She saw three keys on the hook. "You have three rooms still, and a vacancy sign out. I have paid for the room in full, and the check has cleared. Now, this has not been the best of days, and unless you want me to sit outside with a sandwich board stating I am suing you for fraud and theft, I expect one of those keys to be mine shortly." Taylor's voice had risen to a very angry level. Concerned of the possible impending altercations, Millie of house keeping called Sheriff Metzger. He happened to be nearby, and heard her statement. People were beginning to gather in the lobby to hear what was going on.

"What seems to be the problem here?" Before Taylor could speak, The innkeeper Mr. Morton said. "She's causin a ruckus here sheriff, we have no rooms available, and she won't take that as an answer...

Mort looked at Taylor who was shaking her head. "I paid for these rooms with a check, that cleared two months ago. I arrive to discover that they have overbooked, and have bumped me from my room, and they are refusing to refund my money, which should come to 1699.89$ for the entire stay. "

"Your money is not refundable on the grounds that you canceled your stay with us."

"First that cancellation happened when I was in flight, and there isn't any way that I could have made the call, as the sheriff can see from my tickets! Second, I only have your word that I canceled, and seeing how your overbooked, I very much doubt that any phone call was made to that effect, and third, did you get the confirmation number for the room, or did you just take the persons word at the other line that it was me?"

There was a pause. he flipped through there book and didn't answer. Mort looked at her and saw that she was very pale. "I suggest you do one of two things. and considering what you have put her through at this point, perhaps both. Ether get her a room here, or book her a room at the Lighthouse inn, and refund all of her money, now, in cash. Other wise I am going to have to take you in for grand theft."

"The light house is booked solid too." Taylor was shaking her head, then saw the corner of the entry. "What I would like to know, as well, is, what you did with the other room, and Mr. Thomas money as well?"

"Oh, well, Mr. Thomas's secretary said he would be delayed and to hold the room for him"

She drew in her breath. "He will be delayed for a long while- in the meantime, I will use his room, you will refund my money, and by his arrival, I expect a room of my own. Is that understood?" She didn't see Mort nodding behind her to let the innkeeper know that he better comply with her wishes.

Mort noticed that she only had one bag. "Is the other in the taxi?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It was shipped to Portland Oregon. So, how was your day sheriff?"

She asked as she signed the registry.

"Getting better all the time. May I give you a lift into town, so you can pick up a few things?" Taylor smiled and nodded. "Sheriff, you are the first bright light I have seen today. Thank you."

Tipper was running late. Late from a de-quilling that should have taken half the time, but the cat had slipped into shock, and everything that could go wrong, did. The cat was still alive. It wouldn't be chasing after a porcupine for a long time. It was going onto seven and she was tired and hungry, and hadn't had time to get anything for dinner. She knew she would have to do a serious shopping trip, later. Basic things she needed now, the only store within walking distance was an over priced under stocked "Ye old Thyme "

Mini mart. She had a habit of carrying the bags just a bit to high to save her back. It was a bad habit, but not one of her worst. She rushed through the door and about the corner of the store side and smacked into a pedestrian who was coming the opposite direction. She

heard a muffed cry, then a thud. Tippers eggs, milk and diet soda went in five different directions as she fell forward, tripping over the person she had run into. She heard a groan beneath the brown paper bag that once held her groceries.

"Oh NO!" she gasped. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry! "

There was another groan then a weak "No. I am not all right. Its been a horrible day, and I have a migraine, and I really didn't need this right now, Ya know? Oh, and - Your very heavy, can you get off of me?" Tipper managed to get onto the sidewalk and pulled the paper bag off. She saw a very pale Taylor looking through squinted eyes up at her. Tippers hair had come out from her bun. Her eyes were wide, and from the expression on her face Taylor could tell that this happened allot.

"Should I call a Dr.? " Tipper asked as she spied the medic alert bracelet on Taylor's wrist. She shook her head and sat up very cautiously

"The fact that I am still alive, shows that it's not necessary. And I don't know who has planed this to happen all I want to know is why- and what did I do to deserve this except to just to want to go on vacation..." She looked about a bit dazed as Tipper carefully removed the broken egg shell from her hair. Taylor looked down and saw the mess her shirt was, and that the milk had splashed on her pants. She pushed the debris aside and stood up. She was a mess. "Maybe in a few years I can laugh about this, right now, I want

to cry, but I haven't done that in public since I was two, so if you will excuse me, I am going to go back to my hotel and do so."

"Look, you just had a nasty fall, and hit your head, its not been a good day for you, why don't you let me take you home with me, and I can at least make some dinner for you and help get that all cleaned up, or -"

"No, thank you. I just need to be by myself...You don't know who I am,. and. I have no clue who you are."

"Oh, I'm Tipper Henderson, I'm Cabot coves vet. ..."

"Great, my luck to have almost the worst day of my life to end it with a klutzy vet running me over!" a clump of egg yoke fell with a soft plop onto her sleeve.

"Oooohhhhh- that's gonna leave a stain..." said Tipper.

"Ya think?" From behind them they heard a voice say "Well, Tipper strikes again!" Taylor just shook her head and wondered to herself, when the day started to go horribly wrong...What moment or decision that she could have done something to change the outcome for today. It was growing darker, and cold, and she was hungry and she missed

Anthony. She hunched up her shoulders and sniffled. She knew that ether she could sit here an wail, or she could get up, and make the best of the horrible way that this vacation and started out with. Taylor blinked back the tears and made her way to her feet.

"Um, is that a good idea?" asked Tipper

" It is unless your planning to knock me down again! and from what I've just heard, you make a habit of doing this!" snapped Taylor.

Tipper looked up at her, a flicker of hurt from her sharp words went across her face. "Well, not a habit, really, it just happens..." Tipper said, her voice getting softer.

"I'm really sorry, ok, I admit that I am at fault for knocking you down, but I am not responsible for the rest of your day going so bad. Someone else is, and its not me! So if you need to yell about them ok, just don't take it out on me!

Taylor took a deep breath and counted to ten. "You're right, and I'm sorry," she said.

"Look, I'm a mess. If I haven't totally loused things up, is that offer for dinner and a place to clean up still open? I'd really rather not walk back through the lobby of the Hill House with ... pardon the pun ... egg on my face."

Tipper smiled. "Sure, no problem. Come on - first I have to replace all these groceries ..." She turned to go back into the store, and was met at the doors by a grinning check-out lady, holding a bag of groceries already packed and ready to go.

"Guess this does happen to you a lot, huh," Taylor said as Tipper accepted the groceries with a sheepish grin. Literally running into Tipper Henderson did manage to shock Taylor back into a vague awareness of the real world around her. As they walked the few short blocks back to the veterinarian's house, she started to take note of the scenery - the blooming lilac bushes, the maple trees arching over the sidewalks, the brightly painted storefronts. One shop in particular caught her eye. "What's that place?" she asked.

"That weird little store on the corner? It's called Nightshade," Tipper said. "It opened a few months ago. Who knows how long it'll last."

"What do they sell there?" Tipper snorted.

"Weird stuff," she said. "Incense, crystals, decks of cards that are supposed to tell the future, that sort of thing. It probably won't last the season."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_Taylor back into a vague awareness of the real world around her. As they walked the few short blocks back to the veterinarian's house, she started to take note of the scenery - the blooming lilac bushes, the maple trees arching over the sidewalks, the brightly painted storefronts. One shop in particular caught her eye. "What's that place?" she asked._

_"That weird little store on the corner? It's called Nightshade," Tipper said. "It opened a few months ago. Who knows how long it'll last."_

_"What do they sell there?" Tipper snorted._

_"Weird stuff," she said. "Incense, crystals, decks of cards that are supposed to tell the future, that sort of thing. It probably won't last the season."_

"Huh," said Taylor thoughtfully. Something about the store seemed familiar - impossible, since this was her first trip to Maine. She pushed it out of her mind, and concentrated on the promise of dinner and a shower, not necessarily in that order.

It wasn't until four in the morning that she made the connection. She sat up straight in bed, suddenly awake after a very deep dream she couldn't remember, and had two thoughts. The first was, "Damn, it gets light here early!" The second was "Nightshade - that's the name of the chain of stores Anthony's investigating!"

The next morning Taylor was about to leave her room to check out the Hill House's breakfast offerings when there was a brisk knock on her door. Opening it, she found Tipper Henderson standing on the other side, looking dressed for action in jeans and a bright flannel shirt. Taylor took an involuntary step backwards.

"Mornin'," Tipper said. "Don't worry, I'm not carrying any groceries."

"So I see."

"Look, we didn't get off to a very good start yesterday," Tipper said. "I have the day off; let me take you to breakfast, and show you around - you can buy some clothes to replace the ones that got sent to Oregon."

"Sounds better than stale croissants and weak tea," Taylor admitted

"I knew you'd see it my way. Come on."

"All right," said Taylor, "but after breakfast, there's one particular store I need to check out."

"I'm not sure why you wanted to come in here," Tipper said, brushing aside a strand of plastic beads as they entered Nightshade. "I mean, they do sell clothes here, but they look more like tie-dyed tents to me!"

"It's not the clothes," Taylor said. "Come on, let's just browse a bit. I'll explain later."

"Okaaaaaaaaay," Tipper said.

Taylor wandered around the store, drifting from display to display. She saw scattered through the shop different objects that were triangle-shaped with the infinity sign in it and tried to puzzle briefly what it meant. It wasn't any astrological symbol that she knew of. Her interest shifted from the store's wares to the people running it. On the day she had left Anthony's office to begin this disastrous so-called "vacation," she'd caught a glimpse of several photos on his desk. The photos had been upside down and partially hidden under a stack of sheets from the file he was flipping through, but she remembered the face of the man it featured, and thought she might recognize him again if she saw him.

She paused in front of a heavy ornamental looking sword hanging a bit lower than eye level on a wall. It held the same triangles and infinity symbols intertwined with gem stones and silver wrapped around and across the handle. The blade looked odd, there were some markings that were on it, that looked worn off- but were still visible. It was placed next to a display rack holding various pieces of crystal jewelry. Taylor continued to look around at the merchandise seeing a repetitious pattern of the same triangles ... but failed to see Tipper coming toward her. The vet was so entranced by what she was seeing that she was decidedly not looking where she was going, and walked smack into the hapless Taylor.

Taylor pitched forward, caught off balance, and vainly reached for anything that would keep her from falling. Her hands found the hilt of the sword on the wall, but the hook it hung on was not equal to the task of supporting her weight, and she and the decorated weapon both crashed to the floor.

Tipper's eyes were wide. "Omigosh, omigosh, omigosh," she said. "Taylor, I am SO sorry!"

Taylor bit back a few choice comments involving ballerinas, trucks, and gravity - after all, they were supposed to be making a fresh start of things this morning, weren't they? Instead she assessed her situation - embarrassed but unhurt - and reluctantly accepted

Tipper's hands to help pull her back to her feet. "Don't sweat it," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm okay. Lucky I didn't land on that - I don't think the blade's been blunted on that thing."

"No, I guess not," Tipper said. The small crowd of customers and staff who had gathered around began to dissipate as she reached down and picked the sword up backwards by the handle. "Funny, this can't be safe - I wonder if they have liability insurance to cover this thing. Swords have to be blunted before they are sold, aren't they?"

"Uh, I don't know," Taylor said. She wasn't really listening - instead she was watching the retreating figure of one of the store's staff members that had come running to see if she was all right after her fall, watching as he disappeared into a room at the back of the store marked "Employees Only." He looked hauntingly familiar…

Taylor leaned the sword against the counter and bent down to pick up her purse. It brought her in direct line with a large display of burning incense. She felt her eyes water, and her head spin as something in the smell reminded her of – she couldn't remember what - burning peaches? She coughed from the smoke and shook her head. The room's music seemed louder, and the beat of the percussion's began to sound like a heart beat. She did remember the impact as she went down to her knees. She didn't remember getting outside the store, only that she was sitting on the curb with her head between her knees and Tipper carefully checking the lump on the back of her head.

"What happened?" Taylor asked hoarsely.

Tipper bent down and peeked upwards at Taylor. "You sorta, went out of it for a while - I just told them you needed some air, you were breathing funny and wouldn't respond to me… you ok? Your eyes look horrible."

Taylor gave her a blank look as she slowly sat upright. "I think so. Where are we? I need you to do something for me… I need something in there …Where are we again?"

Tipper chewed on her bottom lip. "Outside the shop. Maybe we should have Doc check you out?"

Taylor shook her head. "I have this thing about doctors. Absolutely no faith in any one who is still practicing after 3000 years. Could you find out what that stuff was burning in the shop, and buy like some of it? Just enough to – well, I will explain later. Have you

ever drawn blood on a human before?"

Taylor saw the look of puzzlement on Tippers face. "Um…. I'm not licensed to do that to anyone… and I really wouldn't know if I could."

More confident, Taylor nodded. "Sure you could. It couldn't be different than doing it on a horse, or dog, would it? And they teach young kids to do it for the blood bank, and it's just a certification."

Tipper shook her head. "I really got to get you to Doc's place. It's just up the street a bit."

"Please, it's important, and I can fill you in later, but not here …"

Jessica worked silently in her rose garden. The shunning had given her time to catch up on things that she had put off for a long time. Things she had others do, like tend her prized roses. She was alone, but somehow - she couldn't explain it, but she didn't feel alone. Somehow, it was like there was someone with her, guiding her to find things that she had misplaced, or even what she – remembered – as soft kisses to her cheek when she was feeling a bit alone. Seth was correct. She HAD a life beyond the writing. She wondered what would have happened if she had never written the first story, or if Grady hadn't been so curious about it, and his girlfriend hadn't sent it off to Sutton House Publishers.

She felt a soft pat on her hand, and looked to see where it came from. – Nothing, no one was in the garden with her. She heard voices and looked between the branches of the bushes to see Tipper walking with someone that seemed very familiar to Jessica. The woman seemed a bit dazed as Tipper escorted her up the hill to her home. Jessica shook

her head. "Tipper strikes again!"

The phone rang in her kitchen. Jess knew that her answering machine would and should pick it up, but she needed to speak to someone, even if it was sneaking a call in or a wrong number, as every one knew that she shouldn't be taking the call. She managed to get the phone just before the machine picked up. "Hello?" answered Jessica.

"Jess, what did I say about you doing anything - and answering your phone is part of 'anything!'" said Seth, a bit irritated.

Jess knew that he was baiting her, and said softly, "Far be it for me to pry, but I think Tipper's struck again. They just went up the hill to her home, and the lady she was escorting didn't look all that well…"

There was a sigh at the other end. "I will check up on her in a bit. My main concern is for you currently, young lady. As your doctor, I am allowed to check your promise to me… and what have you been doing?"

"Gardening, and clipping recipes. Ohh… it looks like its going to rain, I've my stuff outside, hold on a moment…"

She put down the phone, and hurried outside to where her gardening tools were and placed them in a basket. As she turned to go back into the house, she saw a sparkle in the grass. A few quick steps and she had scooped up the object and popped it into her pocket to examine later. Seth told her she couldn't write any mysteries, but it didn't stop her from researching her own back yard for them. He was still on the line when she returned a moment later. He spoke with her about her diet, and her sleep habits, and how she was to relax more. When she was finished with the call, she placed some water on for tea, and slipping into a comfortable sweat suit, curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and her book of Shakespeare to read.

"You aren't listening to me, Taylor – I can't do this!"

"Sure you can! Like I said, how different can it be from drawing a heartworm test from a dog?"

"A lot different – like what happens to me if the State Veterinarian Board finds out about this!" Tipper said with a hint of hysteria.

Taylor waved the protest away. "I'm not going to sue you, and I'm certainly not going to report you, even if you leave a bruise. No one will know, I promise!"

"Yeah, well what I don't understand is, if you're so concerned about this, why you aren't having Doc draw your blood and test it," said Tipper.

"Because I can't be sure if my hunch is correct until I see the results," Taylor patiently explained. "And if I am right, it is extremely important that it not get out – as it surely will if the physicians have anything to say about it. That would ruin everything."

"For whom? Oh, I get it, you can't tell me. Well, fine, then. If we're going to do this, let's get it over with."

Tipper went into the other room and fetched her black bag. She opened it on the coffee table while Taylor watched, and started sifting through the contents. "I don't use this much," she explained as she pulled out rolls of gauze, cotton cast padding, and elastic vet wrap. "I see most of my emergencies at the clinic. House calls are pretty rare. Let's see – cat-sized enema, dog motion sickness pills, equine rectal sleeve … oh, here we are, my supply of 22 gauge syringes."

Taylor rolled up her sleeve and resisted the urge to ask Tipper what one did with an equine rectal sleeve' as the veterinarian swiped the inside of her forearm with an alcohol swab. Somehow, she had the feeling that she didn't want to know.

After hesitating for a tense moment, Tipper slipped the needle into Taylor's vein and drew back a couple of cc's of her blood with one smooth motion. She capped the needle and put in her shirt pocket, then checked her watch. "It's noon," she announced. "The clinic's closed til two, so no one should be there. Come on, we'll bundle this up so it'll get sent out this afternoon, then we can go find some lunch."

The veterinary clinic was quite deserted when they arrived. Tipper let them in with her own key, and headed for the lab, where she collected a serum tube and a laboratory request form from a cabinet. She injected the syringe of Taylor's blood into the tube, then set it aside to fill out the form.

"You got a pet?" she asked Taylor.

"Uh, yeah, a dog. Her name is Sydney," Taylor said, confused. "Why?"

"Can't be putting a person's name on this stuff. What type of dog is she?" Tipper asked.

"She's a cross between a teacup poodle and a Maltese - a Tea-poo-tese."

Tipper labeled the tube and the form with the name "'Sydney,' Taylor Andrews." "Now, can you at least tell me what it is we're testing for?"

"Poison, illegal substances, that sort of thing. Maybe an organic toxin as simple as peach pits. All I know is, in LA people are dying after they go to that shop, and we need to know if they have moved to the next level."

Tipper gave Taylor an odd look. The glassy look in her eyes was still there, and there was evidence of some fine beads of perspiration on her forehead. "How about general toxin panel?' Would that do? Along with basic blood levels?" she asked to keep Taylor focused.

Taylor nodded. "Perfect. Now add this to your package, and have them run it too – and look for a match." She held out the little ziplock bag that held the sample of incense Tipper had bought from the Nightshade shop at Taylor's behest. "So, if any one asks, it'll look like the pet came in contact with it and is sick, and we want to know why… right?"

Tipper nodded. "The lab boys are so busy, I don't think they'll question what type of animal it came out of." She finished filling out the form, slipped the incense sample and the serum tube in a plastic bag, and put them in the refrigerator together with a note for her technician. "Okay, we should have the results back in twenty-four hours," she said. "In the meantime, how are you feeling? I still think we should have Doc look at you – you're still a bit off."

"Just a terrible case of the tummy rumbles. Few shakes, but that may be from the ritual bloodletting," Taylor said with a grin. "Let's go have lunch, my treat. I hear this place is the mothership of lobsters. Are they in season?"

Tipper flicked off the lights of the office. "Lobstahh is ALWAYS in season. Have you had it before?" Taylor shook her head. "Not fresh … I don't think I could bear to see the little guy get boiled. I couldn't do it, ya know?"

Nodding, Tipper led the way in the near dark of the vet's office to the brilliant outside. "There are ways to put them in so they feel no pain upon immersion. But I know of a place that we can go where they do it discreetly in a way back kitchen unit. You'll feel better with something light in you …"

Taylor looked up from the lobster on her plate to Tipper; she seemed a tad pale. "It's looking at me," she said.

Tipper, a lobster of her own in front of her, paused with a French fry dipped in ketchup halfway to her mouth. "It's not looking at you," she said, "it's dead."

"That doesn't make me feel any better, somehow."

"Oh, don't be silly. Here, I'll show you how to do this," Tipper told her. "First, you'll need to put on your lobster bib."

"Do I have to? I'll look like a three year old! I haven't needed to use a bib since then either."

"You'll be grateful for it later," said Tipper.

Grudgingly, Taylor tied the plastic bib's strings around her neck. "Okay, now what?"

"Twist one of the claws off at the body, like this. Okay, good. Now, you pick out the meat from each section, and then you can move on to the main claw." Tipper watched as Taylor tentatively followed her instructions, and retrieved some lobster meat.

"It's good," she said, chewing on it thoughtfully.

"It gets better. Now, take the claw in your hands and break it in two …."

Taylor did this and let out a small shriek, dropping the claw and putting her finger in her mouth.

"… carefully," Tipper finished. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"It bit me!"

"It can't bite you," Tipper said patiently, "it's dead."

"Yeah? Tell that to my bleeding finger!" She displayed her finger to Tipper, who sighed.

"I can tell you're From Away," she sighed. "Only an out-of- stater would manage to get themselves bitten by a dead lobster. Here," she said, offering a band-aid from her purse, "dry off your finger and put this on. The salt water will only help. Ewww, you are a messy bleeder."

Taylor shrugged. "Comes with the health plan." She managed to get through the rest of that claw and the other one without incident. Then Tipper moved on to the more technical challenge of the tail.

"Grasp the body like this," she said, demonstrating, "and bend it backwards like this till the tail breaks off."

Taylor copied her example, and was rewarded with a shower of salty lobster juice that splattered all over her plastic bib. "Whoa," she said. "Now I see why the bib is so important." She placed the body and legs upright on the plate and saw more juices running out. She followed Tippers example of how to break the tail in two. She tried to pull it apart at the center.

"Natch," said Tipper. "Now push the meat out one end with your fork."

"Great!" Taylor said when it was out of the shell. "Now I can just eat it, right?"

"Um, no. One more important step," Tipper said. "Peel back this strip of meat along the top, and take out that little tube of dark stuff underneath."

Taylor hesitated as she heard a clatter of a claw and fork against a plate and a sizable lobster body part shoot out off of a neighbor's plate across the room to land beneath an unoccupied table several feet away. She turned back to Tipper, a bit distracted. "What is it?"

"It's … perhaps better if I tell you after lunch."

"Oh. Got it… um… So, do you guys laugh at us out-of-staters when they DO eat that tube?"

Tipper gave a grin and dunked a chunk of the tail meat in clarified butter. "All the time."

Later that afternoon, Jessica sat on the sofa and felt a sharp pinch into her hip. Frowning, she pulled the object out and saw that it was a pin, dirt encrusted, but the post and the clasp were still intact. The buzzer for her oven went off, drawing her into the kitchen where she placed it on to the counter. She opened the oven door and peeked inside at the small pot pie for one. Not something Seth would recommend, but it was what she wanted. The pie had another moment to go. She looked at the pin and turned on the tap water. She could see lettering under the dirt, and wondered how it got into her yard. She looked over where she had discovered it, and tried to remember who had been in her yard. It took a bit of soap and a soft cloth to get off some of the dirt. She saw the words Cornell' about the top of the pin, and olive branches along the base. She knew whatever it had been in wouldn't come off easy. She drew a glass of warm water and some soap, then dropped

the pin in to soak.

Five minutes later she poured the soapy water down the sink through her fingers and examined the shiny, clean pin that was left in her hand. In addition to the Cornell' name across the top and the olive branches, the pin sported a version of the medical caduceus, slightly altered: one snake curled around the staff instead of two, and instead of wings, the standard was backed by a large V.' Not the physician's caduceus, then, but the veterinarian's. And Tipper Henderson, she knew, was the only Cornell graduate working in Cabot Cove's small animal clinic.

Jessica stared down at Tipper's pin, at war with herself. The temptation was very strong to take this up to Tipper's house to return it, because she knew Tipper and in her conversation-starved state, tea with the buoyant vet was an appealing prospect. On the

other hand, the damned shunning forbade her from any contacts whatsoever – a frustrating ban, but one she had promised Seth to obey. For now…

Sighing, Jessica set the pin aside on the kitchen counter. She would decide what to do with it later. Right now, there were recipes that needed clipping.

In the back office of the Nightshade store, Bartholomew sat chewing on a long brown curled stick going over the sales figures for the day. A portly matron with long black hair that went to her waist and pale skin entered the room and nodded to him as she drew a second long stick of a dried vegetable wrap from the jar on his cluttered desk.

Bartholomew glanced up. "Where is he now?"

Meg, the co-owner of the store, shot a look upstairs. "I'd say just tag and bag the bundle and air ship it some place else. We've too much money in here to let that leach suck us dry…"

He shook his head. "He is part of the family, we all have to care for our own, and he is just doing what he was told to do!"

Meg's laugh was bitter and harsh as she spat out some of the twig that she had chewed off. "He is a pig – pigeon, whatever you want to call him. He is doing his job, and I don't trust him in the least. You never had problems with the numbers balancing until he came and now our books look bad. And we don't even have a chance to get them in order before the auditor comes tonight…"

Bartholomew took her hand in his. "Meggerschnitzle, you know I would do anything to make you happy. We have to face this auditor for the organization. If we pass, we can go to the next step and have a better chance at turning this place into our dream land. Think of it - running at full standards just in time for tourist season…"

She shook her head and looked up in the direction where she knew their guest was sipping his special brew watching the security monitors… "We won't have our dream until he is out of the nightmare… one way or another… and he's been looking out at every one, peeking out the main office door when he is supposed to stay out of sight.

Some one saw him today… the woman who knocked over the ceremony sword… She knows it's the real thing. Why is it hanging there again? It's against all that we hold to display it like that! Why couldn't we place it behind the counter where it was?"

Shaking his head he sighed. "It's what HE said we should do, until we are officially a center for the group, it has to have – it's first – as he said. The others who know the sword will come forward and make contact… It will all be over soon Meg… very soon…Once we have the gathering here, it will be a new beginning for all of us. More will come, and we will be the rulers of this town…"

Meg just shook her head. "It will happen, even if we're not here. Of all the places that they picked to have one of these centers for enlightenment, this is in the most primitive area. Can't you feel it? They won't ever understand ENERGY here. They are using us, until the time is right. You won't be in charge if he has his way about it. He isn't caring about the old ways. All he sees is the money and the power that follows! They could come in here and clean house, and all the seed money we sunk into this place will be

gone. They could STILL do that! They could say that we're not producing, or we don't have enough followers, and in the time of initiation when they all gather, we could be the ones being sacrificed!"

He regarded her earnest face. "We have to follow what they want! We have to go down the path even if it is into the dark. We have to have faith that we too will discover the illumination that is promised in the old ways…" He handed a slip of a small square of candy that had a tiny bit of black goo on it. "It's the only way."

"Did it ever occur to you what he is doing Bart? Yes, HE. I don't think he is the puppet that he keeps saying he is. I think he is more to all of this than any of us know. He just can't be an executive from the company and still know everything that he does."

"Meg, there are things, you don't know or understand about all of this. Things better left unsaid."

"Like what? The sword? That didn't come from a cereal box! Bart, when I unpacked it, there was blood on it, on the blade, and I don't know how it managed not to ruin the blade, but it looked like freshly dried blood. Is that what you want to leave unsaid?"

Lt. Arthur Taggart entered the office of District Attorney Anthony Thomas holding the end of a pink thin leash. At the other end of the leash trotted Sydney, her silky white hair pulled up with a matching satin pink ribbon bow. Her leash attached to a slim pink collar that sported a variety of medals that dangled from the clasp. Sydney gave a soft whine of excitement; Anthony could hear her sharp little claws running in place as the lead held her back. He placed the paperwork into the folder and slid it into the out basket before moving his chair aside

"It's ok, Arthur. Let her go…"

Taggart just dropped the lead. Sydney got a running start and vaulted across the room on Anthony's lap where she stood on her hind legs and covered his face with a flurry of puppy smelling kisses.

"Well I missed you too! And were you a good girl in school today?" Sydney answered with a resounding short yip of agreement.

"She put the other police dogs to shame with her dainty ways, and she received her certification. She is now police K-9 trained, has one more class to go for her search and rescue, and even the commissioner was impressed with her to the point that he wants her on the drug task force. He has taken into consideration your suggestion to use the smallest dogs for that task force as they can go in and find things in places the larger dogs cannot. It means that you can take her with you in the plane area, and she won't have to travel in the cargo area. So when are you going to join with Taylor and start your

vacation?"

Anthony shrugged. Sydney was now settled on his lap and fast asleep. "I don't know. We were smart to video tape that affidavit, and we can use that as best evidence. The closest thing we can find is that he was able to get on a plane and headed to Philadelphia. We lost him after that. Tom Mallard's agency found that out when our own force couldn't. Or so I thought. I spoke with the super chief and no orders to locate him were given in a timely fashion. He didn't know about the APB, or that we were still investigating the Nightshade Company. In fact, he had heard that the case was dropped, and it came from this office. Now, I made sure that I knew where all the evidence was, and that it's safe where it can't be tampered with. The _planted_ evidence, what the office thought was the files, and lab work, has been compromised."

"That's very bad Anthony. Do you have any idea who has done this?"

Anthony shook his head. "But what I do have is a continuance from the judge, and a writ stating that the video can be used as best evidence if we can't find him."

"I know your not the type to give up, if you were you wouldn't be battling Donald for all these years. By the way, where is Mabel?"

Anthony shrugged. "She asked if she could go early, she had a doctor's appointment to go to, to have a tooth pulled. She may be off for a few days… Which leaves us old guys to keep this little lady entertained until her mommy comes back to LA, or that I can join her…."

"Well, you have the continuance, why don't you take a bit of the time and give her mommy your best?"

Anthony shook his head. "I tried calling the Hill House, and they don't have her listed as a guest, which may mean that she went to a different inn, or Mabel had her go elsewhere. I could all ways call Seth, or Jessica - I know she was planning on visiting them, but, she may just, need time to herself."

"Without you? Did you kids have a fight?"

Anthony shook his head. "No. I asked her to marry me, and she said no, end of discussion, no compromise. This trip was to be some time that we could spend together and just not worry about our jobs, or what would happen next, and, well, maybe help her change her mind."

Tipper and Taylor spent part of the afternoon replacing Taylor's wardrobe with what Tipper called Basics.

"Jeans. Live in them, and T shirts, sensible shoes, the hills here are killers," she said, tossing Taylor several packs of men's t-shirts that were on sale.

Taylor caught them and put them in the basket. "It's too cold just for T shirts…" she began.

"Oh, its not the cold, it's the sea wind, we have these fleecy things. We won't find them here, there's another shop along the way that we can get one, and you will be set."

It was beginning to cloud up and sprinkle by the time that they arrived at the hill house hotel. Tipper helped to carry her packages up to the room, and then unpack and together they discovered the hotel's laundry room. Taylor didn't want to leave anything behind to

disappear. She and Tipper took turns running the stuff to the room and watching the washer and dryer.

On the last load, Tipper sent Taylor on ahead to the room to check the messages. She was a bit puzzled when she didn't come back down within the hour cycle. Going upstairs she gently pushed the door open with her toe to see Taylor sound asleep on the top covers of the bed, a bloody washcloth lying on the floor beside the bed. She folded it and tossed it into the sink of the dimly lit bathroom. She stood and watched Taylor breathing for a while. Leaving the cloths neatly hanging in the closet, and the key on the dresser she wrote a brief note for her that she would be by in the morning to take her to breakfast again, and if she was hungry later to give her a call. She chuckled as she closed the door, and heard it latch behind her. Only an outa stater would need to take such a deep afternoon nap like that. Something to do with no smog, and the sea air.

Tipper yawned herself and walked briskly to her home. She glanced down the street at the Nightshade store, and saw a lady with dark hair and an expensive trench coat enter the store. A rental car was parked along side the curb. She shook her head. There was something about tourists. They had to be intelligent people before they came, but once on the vacation, they forget how to read and follow the laws of NO PARKING!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_On the last load, Tipper sent Taylor on ahead to the room to check the messages. She was a bit puzzled when she didn't come back down within the hour cycle. Going upstairs she gently pushed the door open with her toe to see Taylor sound asleep on the top covers of the bed, a bloody washcloth lying on the floor beside the bed. She folded it and tossed it into the sink of the dimly lit bathroom. She stood and watched Taylor breathing for a while. Leaving the cloths neatly hanging in the closet, and the key on the dresser she wrote a brief note for her that she would be by in the morning to take her to breakfast again, and if she was hungry later to give her a call. She chuckled as she closed the door, and heard it latch behind her. Only an outa stater would need to take such a deep afternoon nap like that. Something to do with no smog, and the sea air._

_Tipper yawned herself and walked briskly to her home. She glanced down the street at the Nightshade store, and saw a lady with dark hair and an expensive trench coat enter the store. A rental car was parked along side the curb. She shook her head. There was something about tourists. They had to be intelligent people before they came, but once on the vacation, they forget how to read and follow the laws of NO PARKING!_

The telephone rang shrilly at 5:30 am waking Tipper. She rolled out of bed and went to the phone, sitting on the floor to answer it. "Dr. Henderson speaking, how can I help you?" There was a pause, and then a very tired voice came over the line. "Dr. Henderson? This is Sam speaking from the lab, you sent some samples in and you wanted to know the results ASAP. We saw from the samples that the blood was human, and knew that you were probably using it as a teaching aid for a new technician. We used it as well to train one of our new people, and discovered something, the person may not have been aware of. We're faxing the hard copy to your office, but there are some critical results you may need to know now for your patient…um- 'Sydney' – Taylor Andrews…"

"Hang on while I get a pencil." She stretched up to her desk and dragged down a pencil and pad. "Ok what do you have that's so interesting…?"

Tipper splashed water on her face refreshing herself after her brief shower. She couldn't go back to sleep now. She knew the town was up by 4 am. There were days she just wanted to sleep in. She knew that she would have to have a long talk with Taylor, and some words with Mort. Seth would be another person to talk to, but for now, she had to start with Taylor. She pulled on her shoes and her jacket and hurried out the door.

Taylor woke to see people moving in her room. She didn't move at first, only took a moment to blink and try to focus on something. Her head throbbed. She was able to get one eye moving in a direction to follow one of the people. It took a moment for her to distinguish that it was Mort speaking with the hotel manager at the door. Her mouth felt as if all of Hannibal's army had marched across her tongue. She managed to slowly roll over and even slower, sit up, clinging to the edge of the bed. Carefully she stood and walked to the bathroom where Deputy Floyd was dusting her wash basin. She walked behind him and stood, her arms crossed as she said clearing her throat, "If you wouldn't mind, I need to use this room for a moment?"

Deputy Floyd blushed and said, "Certainly, but you'll need to use the tub to wash your hands."

She nodded and closed the door between them, locking it for privacy. She could hear Mort yelling at Floyd. She didn't know why, but somehow, after the start of this trip, nothing would surprise her. She heard a knock at the door, asking her to come out. Taylor held her hands under the water wincing as the warm soapy water ran into the deep cut on her finger from the lobster. In a moment she came out, and saw Mort looking in at the sink, then back to her.

"Ms. Andrews, can you tell me where you were yesterday?" he snapped.

Taylor all but ignored him as she went to her night stand and drew out her prescription and swallowed one following it with a swig of cold tea. She gave a shrug. "With Tipper, shopped, got bit by a lobster, did laundry, and came up here to rest before dinner."

"And where did you have dinner?"

Taylor shrugged. "Haven't had it yet, Tipper said she was going to make lobster bisque… I should be getting ready for it soon..." She frowned. "Can I ask what you're doing in my bedroom? You said yesterday? It's tomorrow already?"

Mort nodded and looked at Floyd as he came from the bathroom. He had several things in the evidence bags, and was labeling the photos taken by the Polaroid. "We had a bit of a problem at one of the shops in town, and found some fingerprints on site. I ran them through the state linked computer, and discovered some of them to be yours. I also discovered that you have an arrest record, and are a wanted felon in four states. Tying the prints at the site and the amount of blood found here, I have no choice but to arrest you for the murder of Bartholomew Dixon. ..You have the right to remain silent; you have the right to counsel …"

Tipper strode up to Taylor's door and saw that the manager of the inn was standing in the hallway looking very smug. She heard Mort reading a Miranda warning to someone and saw that he was placing Taylor in hand cuffs. Taylor was looking decidedly confused, and a bit peeved.

When Mort finished he asked "Do you understand this warning?"

Taylor shook her head. "No. I don't understand anything right now. I have no clue as to what you're saying, and what is going on." She saw Tipper in the doorway. "He says it's morning, is it? What happened to dinner - we were doing the laundry?" She shook her head and placed it into her hands. The cuffs clanked against her medic alert bracelet.

Tipper drew in a breath and went to Mort. "I think its best if we had Doc here, now," She stood toe to toe with him.

He looked down at her and shook his head. "I understand how she could have convinced you that she is the damsel in distress, but she's a dangerous criminal, and a murderer. Right now she is going to jail to await the circuit judge and Doc can visit her in there."

Tipper went to Taylor. "Taylor, look at me… is there someone at home that you want me to call to get this straightened out?"

Taylor shook her head. "All this was to be was a simple vacation to see Jessie, and relax, and spend time with Anthony and it hasn't worked. I can't win, never could beat the odds and it's just not worth it any more…"

Mort went to her and helped her up off the bed taking her personal items in a plastic bag. Tipper was the last to go, and watched them seal up the room with evidence tape. She saw the smug look on the innkeeper's face and strode past him out to the walkway where she chewed her bottom lip. She could go to Seth, but he wouldn't be able to see her right away anyway, not till Mort booked her and tossed her in jail. She drew in a breath and started walking. She kept thinking about Taylor's words, and the more she thought about it, the faster she strode down the street, until she stopped, and found herself outside of Jessica's house. She knew the shunning was still in effect, and didn't care. Something was very wrong, and it was far beyond her humble detective skills. She raised her hand to knock…

The door opened before she had the chance. There was Jessica, looking a little less tired but perhaps a bit more agitated.

"I know I shouldn't be talking to you …" they both said in unison.

Jessica laughed. "They say great minds think alike," she said. "Please, come in, Tipper."

Once Jessica had shut the back door firmly against the rest of the outside world, she said, "Seth will have a fit if he finds out about this, but I'm starting to lose my mind, and I just have to talk to someone."

"Seth'll be calling for my head too," Tipper said, "but I also needed to talk, and specifically with you. Taylor Andrews has been arrested for murder."

"WHAT? I can't believe that; Taylor's not the type …Sit down, and tell me about it."

Tipper took a seat at the kitchen table, while Jessica set the kettle on for tea.

"I guess you DO remember Taylor, she said she'd met you and Seth in Los Angeles some time back," Tipper began. "Anyhow, she came out here on vacation – she was supposed to have come with her boyfriend, Anthony Thomas – and things have been just miserable for her. First her luggage gets sent to the wrong Portland, and then the Hill House loses her room reservation, then … well, you know about the groceries incident."

"I remember," said Jessica. "That egg must have left an awful stain. That was Taylor? She's changed her hair since I last saw her."

"It did. Anyhow, it didn't stop there. We were walking around town yesterday and went into that new age shop over on Oak Street, and not only did I nearly kill Taylor a second time, she got a whiff of something in there that's got her partially scrambled."

"Something – like what?" Jessica asked leaning forward to listen closer to what Tipper was saying.

"Some kind of incense or something. Taylor made me draw a sample of her blood and send it off to get tested for opiates. Came back positive, along with some other interesting results that I really need to talk to Seth about."

"Interesting," said Jessica. "Then what?"

"Then last night Bartholomew Dixon gets run through with a sword. Mort found a trench coat smeared with blood in Taylor's room; the blood types match. There's a lot more blood scattered around the room and on Taylor's clothes; that also matches. Except Taylor has an excuse, she cut herself on a lobster claw yesterday at lunch. But since Taylor and Bartholomew Dixon have the same blood type, A-, for all we know, she was covered in this guy's blood, not her own."

"They may have the same blood type," Jessica said, taking the kettle off the heat as it started to whistle, "but they don't have the same blood. Something that they wouldn't think to look for in the testing."

"You've lost me, Jessica. Look I know she has some levels that are off, but, that could be from even the aspirin that she took yesterday for her headache."

"It'll actually be fairly simple to determine whether the blood found on Taylor was from the murder victim or from yesterday's mishap with the lobster. Pick a tea bag, Tipper, and I'll tell you what you need to ask Seth to do when you talk to him next."

Tipper settled on a bag of black currant, and listened. When they had finished exchanging information Tipper stood up. "Time to talk some sense into Mort's head - I'll let you know what I find out. Thanks for the tea." Tipper hurried out the door and strode with determination to the sheriff's office.

Jessica closed the door and put the cups in the sink. She passed the phone, and her heart began to beat hard in her chest. Jessica pulled out her address book and removed a dog eared business card. It was too much of a temptation to get involved in all of this. She knew that if she called Anthony at his office it might be intercepted.

She hesitated. Her mind was making leaps that terrified her. With shaky hands she dialed the private number on the card. "…Sarah? Is Donald there?… Oh… Could you tell him Taylor's been in an accident? I don't know the details beyond that she was run over by the town's vet…Thank you."

She heard Sarah hang up, and then there was a second click. Her heart pounding faster, Jessica's fears were realized. She felt a curious warmth, as if some one was giving her a long hug…Jess turned on the water and began to wash the dishes.

Tipper went to the Sheriff's Office in an attempt to introduce a little logic into Mort's head.

"Yes, Taylor's fingerprints would be on the sword, she grabbed it when she fell in the shop. And as it was on display, a lot of other fingerprints would be on it too. Were the other fingerprints on top of hers, or were hers on top? For that matter, how do you

know the blood you found on Taylor's clothing was Dixon's?" she said, after retelling the story of the Attack of the Boiled Lobster. "After all, it was a deep cut, and Taylor kept picking at it. It would have left quite a mess wherever she went."

"There was a mix of prints on the sword. A couple on top of hers, but some where it could only be if she held the sword. We haven't identified the other set yet, she may have had help with this. Oh, and she and the murder victim have the same blood type," Mort said stubbornly, waving the initial crime scene report at her.

"You can't arrest someone for having the same blood type as the murder victim!"

"No? Well, how about this – the trench coat we found in her room, you know, the one smeared with all the blood? Ms. Andrews admits that it's hers."

Here Tipper looked oddly puzzled. "How could Taylor's trench coat be with her in Cabot Cove?"

Mort gave her an exasperated look. "Maybe because she owns it?" he said. "People often pack their own clothes to go on vacation!"

"But there was a mix-up with her luggage. You knew that too! She went to Portland, Maine, but her bags were sent to Portland, Oregon," Tipper said. "In fact, we spent all yesterday afternoon outfitting her with new clothes so she could stop living in the ones

she'd worn all the way out from LA. And she didn't have a trench coat when I left her last night.

Mort's face fell a little, and Tipper seized the opportunity to drive her point home. "Furthermore," she said, "did you find anything else of Taylor's that wasn't bought yesterday? Or a suitcase, and have they tested the blood to see if it came from a MAN

or a WOMAN?"

"All right, all right, I get the picture," Mort sighed. "So somehow, somebody got hold of Ms. Andrews' coat, or one exactly like it, and is using it to frame her. That suggests a West Coast connection somewhere."

"Yes," said Tipper, "which somehow I find troubling. And hey – how did you know to go looking in Taylor's room for bloodstains in the first place anyway?"

Mort rolled his eyes. "It was an anonymous tip," he said.

"From a man or a woman?"

"Floyd took the call; he said it sounded like a woman," said Mort.

"Sheriff," said Tipper, leaning on the desk, "I saw a woman wearing a trench coat go into the Nightshade shop last night on my way home from the inn. She caught my eye because she'd left her rental car in the no parking' zone, and it always irritates the heck

out of me when people do that."

"Rental car," said Mort. "That would suggest that she's from out of state. You didn't happen to get a license plate number, did you?"

"Uh, no," Tipper admitted. "But I think I could recognize it or the lady again if I saw them. Sort of tall, dark black wavy hair and a very tan complexion."

"Well, it's a start," Mort said. "But only a start," he warned as Tipper's face brightened somewhat. "I'm not letting her go – especially not with her still coming off that big bender like she is. The woman can hardly tell down from up, and she's liable to get run over by a pick-up truck."

"Withdrawal," Tipper said quietly to herself. Now Taylor's strange disorientation that morning made more sense. It was definitely time to talk to Seth. Tipper started to walk to the door. Mort looked up from the papers that he was placing in the file.

"While you're here Dr. Henderson, it occurred to me to check your fingerprints against those on the weapon as well. You seem to be in deep with Ms. Andrews and it's very likely that you might be the accomplice that we are looking for…"

"Um, sorry Sheriff, that will have to wait, I'm due at a meeting. Tipper ducked out of the sheriff's office, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew that he would find her prints on the sword, and using his fuzzy logic, she would end up in the cell next to Taylor. All that would accomplish was to prevent her from investigating matters. Tipper halted in her strides and took a steadying breath. She shook off the growing fear and continued her

path for answers.

Seth regarded Tipper as she came into his office. He was wearing a frown, and clicked his tongue at her. She braced herself for what was to come, then said in a rush, "I don't regret doing it. I know I shouldn't have, but I just had to."

"Rules are rules young lady, who we are, and what we do cannot make us exempt from them."

Tipper cringed a bit from the tone of his voice, then straightened herself out. "Yelling at me won't solve the problem. I know my limitations, and I DID want to come to you yesterday with what was going on - maybe this wouldn't have happened if I had, but she didn't want to have any thing to do with ANY doctor…"

Seth paused, did a double take, and then tilted his head. "Who didn't? Jess was fine yesterday when I spoke to her. I was referring to your visit to her… What are you going on about?"

Tipper froze, then closed her eyes for a second. Drawing a breath she said softly, "I was speaking about the blood work for Taylor Andrews…Sam said he was going to send it to you…"

Seth walked over to his desk and lifted up a file. "Oh, that… well, knowing Taylor, I do understand. Was that her that you ran over the other day?"

Tipper nodded, and said sheepishly, "Twice, and she has the goose egg on her head to prove it. Yesterday we went into that shop, Nightshade, and she came in contact with some of the incense, and it really … Doc, she's in Mort's jail going through withdrawal right now. He thinks she killed that guy, and they have the same blood type, and the trench coat that was found in her closet may be hers, but she didn't bring it, all her stuff was shipped to Portland, Oregon. If you compare from the samples that I took, and check for the organic compound, and her blood type, and the cross match … maybe the blood is his, but she couldn't have done it, and Mort says she's wanted in a couple of states as a felon, and…"

Seth sighed. "You're beginning to sound like Jessica…" He picked up the phone and dialed a number as he looked right at Tipper. He didn't blink as he gave a request to the technician at the other end. He just asked after he hung up- "Did you see any evidence of blood when you last saw her?"

Tipper nodded. "Just on a wash cloth, by her bed, but she received a nasty cut from a lobster at lunch. She was asleep when I left, and from the covers, I don't think she moved the entire night… Sam called really early this morning and…"

The ringing of the telephone interrupted her. He sighed, and then picked up his bag and said to Tipper. "Mort suggests that I come down there. He says he's got information on the place where the man was found. And he suggests that I should check up on Taylor… he says she's acting like she had too much cappuccino"

Taylor paced the small cell in a nervous circle. She wouldn't stand still, couldn't if she tried. She looked up at Tipper as she came into the jail, then Seth. She tried focusing on them, and then shook her head as she saw the medical bag. She kept pacing in tight circles. "I keep hearing a voice tell me I have to do something and I don't know if I did…and it tells me to shrink-wrap someone. I see a sword, and there is blood everywhere. I can't breathe from peaches. I don't know. There is something going on there I can't explain." She paused for a second. She looked at Seth again then said, "You can't help me, there is nothing to do here. All you can do is follow the trail back to the nest and see where the eggs are before the pigeon flies again. I keep seeing all the blood on the wall and the boy tied to the bed… But it's not there and he isn't in pain any more. I'm responsible for what happened. I have to be, I should have known, or checked sooner. He is dead and it's my fault."

Mort shook his head as he let Seth into the cell. "Don't know Doc, sounds like a confession to me."

Seth shook his head. "Taylor works with the DA of Orange County. When Jess and I went out there, Taylor had helped us catch the serial killer. What she is saying is from her memory, of the previous murder, not this one."

Tipper saw Mort head to his desk and pick up an ink pad and look about for the white cards for the fingerprinting. Tipper slowly backed out of the room to the door and hurried down the street. She had to think. The evidence against Taylor was very well planned. Every thing that had been happening to her had been as if someone wanted to get her into this position. She heard a laugh, coming from a side street and glancing down it, saw Meg with another man that she remembered seeing briefly at the nightshade shop. Ducking quickly into a the pastry shop to get out of the line of sight, Tipper planned to follow them and hear what could possibly be so funny after everything that had happened.

"Can I help you Tipper?" asked the person across the counter. Tipper jumped slightly at the sound of her name. She had only eaten there once, and the pastries really didn't impress her at all.

"Um, Yeah, I'll have one of those bear claws…" she froze as she heard Meg's voice again saying that they could have lunch at the pastry shop.

"Anything else? For here or to go?"

"That blueberry tea, a large, a bag of the winegums and it's for here…"

Tipper settled into a seat in the narrow corner and slowly dunked her tea bag.

It was a long cup of tea as she slowly ate the wine gums. Tipper wasn't much on candy. The view from the pastry shop was just people passing on the side walk. She had to strain to hear the voices. She heard the clock chime and realized that she had been glued to the chair and the conversation for an hour (having finished off several bear claws and even more tea). She didn't know how many more she would have to eat.

A tinny tune echoed in the pastry shop. Meg pulled out her cell phone and hit the button to answer it then handed it to the guy across the table. "Yeah? … When? Ok, then, just take care of it…Hey, its all the better for us, ya know? Sure, this will put an end to every thing… no, it's too small to do it here; lotta strays will do the work for us… (laughter) Yeah, some c4 will make him into real hamburger…Just do it. By the time they find all the pieces something else will take up their time and we'll be in the clear. What's another D.A? …Sure, the taxpayers will thank us later… "

Tipper nearly choked on her tea. She could feel the guy's eyes on her, and thankfully her own cell phone went off.

"Yes?… Where is your pup now?…. Well get him out from under the porch and bring him in… Oh - about two hours to dequill. Ok. Bye." She saw the counter person regard her with sympathy. Tipper shrugged and said "Can't even have a long quiet cup of tea without this thing going off. Thanks for the break, though."

Two hours later, the quills all removed and the dog sent home with a new appreciation for porcupines, Tipper took the information she had won at the expense of several bears claws and went back to the Sheriff's office. Floyd greeted her as she came in.

"Afternoon, Tipper," he said. "Come to see the Sheriff?"

"Yes. Is he free?"

"He's just finishing up with Miss Andrews. I'll let him know you're here."

A few minutes later the cheerful red-haired deputy came back out and said, "Sheriff Metzger says come on in."

"How's Taylor?" was her first question when she walked into the office.

"A lot better than when you and Doc were here earlier," Mort said. "Like, she's actually starting to sound like she's making sense."

"Good. Sheriff, someone From Away is calling the shots on what's been going on with this murder."

"I agree. And the evidence is starting to indicate that it's Miss Andrews."

Tipper's heart sank – someone had it in for Taylor, and had it in bad. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Mort picked up a handful of computer printouts on his desk. "These are the phone records from the Hill House Inn," he said. "The manager brought them over this morning voluntarily. On it there are several calls placed from Miss Andrews' room the night before the murder to the Nightshade store, and also to several shady organizations in the Los Angeles area. It's all right here on paper – Taylor Andrews isn't who she appears to be."

"Ridiculous," said Tipper. "Taylor Andrews is the girlfriend of the Orange County district attorney. If she had strong links to organized crime, wouldn't that be awfully hard to hide from him?"

"Maybe she's a plant, a mole to get confidential information out of the D.A.'s office," Mort said.

"Maybe someone sees her as a threat, or worse, as a way to get to Anthony Thomas," Tipper countered. "This whole thing stinks of a set-up."

"Yeah?" said Mort. "And how can you be so sure?"

"Because I was with Taylor the night before the murder, for the whole evening. We were over at my house, trying to wash the egg stain out of her shirt. I was also trying to make up for running her over outside the Ye old thyme shop by cooking her dinner. She didn't

go back to the inn until nearly midnight. When were those calls supposedly placed?"

Mort leafed through the records and looked a little sheepish. "Uh, between eight and ten-thirty PM."

"Well, then."

"Okay, okay. So she didn't place those calls. It still doesn't explain the remarkable coincidence of all this stuff going down as soon as she hits town. What's the connection?"

"I don't know," said Tipper, "but it makes me very afraid for Taylor's sake."

Mort frowned, saw the fingerprinting kit on the corner of the desk and looked up to Tipper. "A moment of your time to satisfy a question doctor…"

Tipper gave him a puzzled innocent look, then glanced down at her pager. "That will have to wait Sheriff; I have an emergency at the office."

Mort looks thoughtfully at her retreating figure. Something wasn't quite right about this.

Tipper decided to risk Seth's wrath and dared a second trip to Jessica's house. She looked over her shoulder the whole way to make sure she wasn't being followed or watched. Oh, what the heck, she finally thought to herself. Seth would probably find out anyway. She went on without looking back.

She had a momentary start when she rounded the corner and saw a man loitering outside of Jessica's house, then relaxed when she realized that it was just that guy with the obnoxious barbecue sauce stain. She smiled at him as she passed, and he nodded in return but said nothing. Tipper dismissed him from her mind as she knocked at Jessica's back door. Jessica was there in an instant and dragged her inside.

"Things are worse than I thought," she said. "I'm pretty certain there's a conspiracy going on, and Taylor's right in the center of it. The phone records show that calls to the Nightshade store, and to some places in L.A. that Mort's not to happy with. They were placed from her room, and when she was with me…So that means that its not just the goings on at the store, its- like a bad weed that gets in the yard and puts down roots to china."

Tipper stopped when she saw Jessica nod. "Yes, I suspected as much when I placed the call to Donald's office today. I heard a second click on the line; someone was listening to the conversation."

"Donald? Which Donald are you referring too, and aren't you supposed to be resting?" came Seth's voice from through the door. He was leaning against the frame of the door and wore a peeved expression.

Jessica held up her hand. "I won't say I told you so. There is something very wrong with what is going on at that shop," she began.

Seth rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Mort went all over that shop, and they are a legitimate site of business. We have been over this before…"

Tipper shook her head. "Legitimate places of business do not sell opium derivatives to the customers!"

Seth fixed her with a steady gaze. "I went to the Nightshade shop, and they do not have that incense that you said you purchased yesterday. They don't even have a record of any sale to you, or that you were in the shop at all. And I compared the register receipt that you marked as proof to one that they print out and it's different. Different paper and printing and type. Furthermore, at Mort's request I had Taylor's medication tested, and it showed positive for the opium derivative. In fact, it wasn't what was supposed to be in the bottle at all. I've been able to get her real medications filled here. However, with finding the drugs in her possession, this would lend credibility that she is who the police reports say she is. Both Jessica and I have worked with Taylor and know this isn't the case. Nor would she take the drug willingly."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_Seth fixed her with a steady gaze. "I went to the Nightshade shop, and they do not have that incense that you said you purchased yesterday. They don't even have a record of any sale to you, or that you were in the shop at all. And I compared the register receipt that you marked as proof to one that they print out and it's different. Different paper and printing and type. Furthermore, at Mort's request I had Taylor's medication tested, and it showed positive for the opium derivative. In fact, it wasn't what was supposed to be in the bottle at all. I've been able to get her real medications filled here. However, with finding the drugs in her possession, this would lend credibility that she is who the police reports say she is. Both Jessica and I have worked with Taylor and know this isn't the case. Nor would she take the drug willingly."_

Jessica sat in silence as Tipper paced in the living room. She stopped pacing and looked at Seth. "Maybe I should be very afraid. In order for them to be doing this shell game with the registers and setting Taylor up… She said that getting here was a nightmare, and

even here, things have been very bad for her, What if someone didn't want her here at all? Or to tie her up so that she couldn't find out something?"

"What would be so important?" asked Seth.

Donald walked up to Anthony as he opened his car door. "Do you have a moment?" he asked.

Anthony closed the car door, and followed Donald back to his car where he held open the door. He sat inside and closed the door, then waited as Donald got in on the drivers side.

"Has Tom found the snitch?"

Donald shook his head. "I received a message from Cabot Cove. Sarah took the message this morning. The woman said she was Jessica Fletcher. I tried to return the call, and I haven't been able to get through. The operator says that Mrs. Fletcher is under her doctor's care and can't take incoming calls. I tried to contact Dr. Hazlitt, and his line is out of order. The operator couldn't or wouldn't put me in through to any one in the town. Out of curiosity, I called Nightshade's toll free number and entered in the zip code for Cabot Cove… There is a new shop just opened on the main street." Donald stopped trying to form the words. Anthony could see the struggle on his face.

"It gets worse, so, just tell me," he said finally.

"The message from Mrs. Fletcher said that Taylor has been in an accident and that she was run over by the town vet. It happened the day she arrived. I can't get any information to see how she is doing. I tried to book a flight to Portland and everything is booked solid for three weeks."

"I have an open ended ticket. They have to take that…" He saw Donald shaking his head

"You can't go, Anthony. They are rooted in the town deep enough to control the phone systems… and the police force."

"Whoa, the local police too? Where did you get this?" Donald looked out the window.

"When Taylor tried to go to Cabot Cove, she had some problems at the airport; they were set to arrest her. She called me, and I was able to read them the riot act about unlawful detention. I ran a check on her, and it seems she is now a wanted felon in four states. I put a tag on the file and it was accessed from Cabot Cove. A notation that she was in custody was added this morning, as well as drug possession, and assault, and murder charges."

Anthony shook his head. "I believe the corruption has invaded this force and my office here in LA." Donald watched him get out of the car "Keep me updated," he said then closed the door.

Donald saw him pull the car keys out of his pocket and tabbed the electronic ignition

switch to warm his car up as he walked towards it. There was a resounding WHOOOMMPHHE BOOOMMM that shook the concrete car garage as Anthony's car exploded into a fire ball.

Mort regarded Taylor as she looked at the place mat that was under the dinner plate. She set it aside and had asked him if he had any thing to draw with. He produced a single dark gray crayon long abandoned from a kid.

"Ok, so, if I buy that you're being set up on this, and your really dating the D.A., who I can't seem to get a hold of, or that lawyer friend of yours, or that detective agency, can you tell me what is going on in there that would cause this event?"

"The state of California vs. Nightshade, Inc. One of the leading members was to turn state's evidence against them and tell how they manage to get entire communities addicted. He suspected that they had infiltrated the task force."

"Did he say how they do it? I mean, come on, this one here is a mom-and-pop organization who maybe do a hundred or so a day if they are lucky, and are living hand to mouth …"

She shook her head. "The danger is in the recruiting of the other employees. Your

neighbor, the meat man, any one that they can use - even if it's for planting information against someone to slow the investigation. Ask yourself why you can't make a call to the outside towns, and why the innkeeper was so eager to give you the phone records." She saw he was about to dismiss her and said, "Of which he forgot one very important item. The room wasn't registered under Taylor Andrews. I was in Anthony's room, # 305 not

#107. Check my room key in my bag against the room listing. The person who was in room 107 is your murderer."

Mort, curious, went to the safe, extracted her things, and looked at the key and the receipt for the room. He replaced them after comparing them to her registration receipt that was tucked safely in her wallet. Mort turned back to her and said softly, "You have my attention. But you realized I can't let you go, for your own safety. And it's just supposition that the person in 107 is the murderer…."

Lt. Arthur Taggart sifted through the papers Anthony had on his desk. Sitting on a corner of the desk was Sydney who whined softly. They had just finished the classes when they heard the break on the police dispatch. They wouldn't let him see the body. Tom Mallards had held him back, saying that it was better if he just remembered him the way he was - before.

Arthur Taggart felt old. He sat down in the chair and closed his eyes. Sydney moved to his lap and planted her tiny paws on his chest, her little tongue flicked over the salty tears on his cheek. He heard the jingle of her medals and her soft whine. She snuggled under his chin, trying to bring him comfort.

He heard the sharp click of heals on the linoleum as Mabel entered into the outer office, then strode into Anthony's office. She stopped short and saw Taggart sitting in the chair. "Oh… I was just going to clean out the office," she began.

Sydney's little head whipped about and she wiggled off of Arthur's lap. She jumped to the floor and went over to Mabel, who she sniffed thoroughly. Taggart was almost too distracted to notice what was happening when Sydney gave a series of sharp yips. It broke his solitude, and he looked at Sydney who was sitting back, and looking at

him, waiting for his response. Taggart studied her and then called Sydney off and back to

him.

"You're not to touch a thing in the office. All of his cases will go forward as planned. We have all the evidence we need to shut down and pull out by the roots that weed Nightshade."

He watched as she blinked rapidly. "Yes, of course." She backed out of the room and closed the door. He waited, and watched the light to the outside line come on briefly.

"Good work Sydney." He rose a bit unsteadily and scooped Sydney up in his arms. He knew what had to be done, and who could do it.

Mabel watched his departure. Her heart beat fast in her chest. She watched him walk out, then gathered her purse. Glancing about the office she looked for any place where the other files could have been. She was torn between loyalty to the organization, and self-preservation. She hurried out of the office, not even noticing the very plain-looking man who followed her.

A half hour later Arthur walked into Donald Brook's office and told Sarah that he was seeing Brook. She blocked the door and said, "He is with a client now…"

Half a second later Diana opened the door. "It's all right, Sarah," she said as she opened the door for him.

He put Sydney down on the floor and strode over to Donald's desk. "We need to get Sydney to Cabot Cove, Maine, today."

"And why is that?"

Taggart paced to the window and then back again. "Because Taylor's there, and it's the one store where they wouldn't suspect our secret weapon. From what we were informed, each computer has access to the main database. If we can find even one drug on the premises we can seize the records and shut them all down."

Brook followed Taggart's gaze to where Sydney was at the law library door. She stood expectantly, wagging her tail. Taggart turned and bent over to look into Donald's eyes.

"And I know you have just the person to transport her. Here are her papers. She can travel with you as a working dog." Sydney gave a happy yip, and began to scratch the door a bit harder.

Donald nodded. "I've spoken to her adjunct about traveling to Maine to see if he can get her released and this matter straightened out. He will be leaving for the airport shortly. The company that they work for wishes to get this matter resolved as soon as possible. They were not happy with the revelation that Taylor is a wanted criminal. It's not what their research shows."

"The court has allowed a five day continuance because of this. We have to get them, Donald."

"We will."

Seth heard the news flash a few hours later as he was getting his dinner ready. He stood in numb horror listening to the details on the television before shoving it back into the refrigerator. He didn't remember quite how he arrived at the jail, only that Mort took one look at him and pulled out the flask of brandy he kept in the bottom drawer for people that needed a stiff drink.

Seth waved it away. "Where is Taylor?"

Mort indicated the lockup where she was sketching with a crayon and a place mat. A quick glance showed that she was sketching the cell's sink. She looked up at him and saw the pained expression on his face. His eyes were red rimmed from holding back the tears.

"How did it happen?" she asked quietly.

"Car bomb. It took out the corner of the garage, and sent most of his car across the west side of town. Death was instantaneous. I'm so very sorry Taylor. I know he loved you very much."

She turned away from him and said softly. "I didn't want him to be a widower so early in his life." Wrapping her arms about her upper body she faced the wall, unable to look at either of them. "You asked me, Mort, what it would take for a sane person to kill someone…I know who did this to him and when I find that person, I will kill them."

Seth chided her. "Taylor, that's not what Anthony would want you to do…"

"You're right. He wanted me to marry him, he wanted babies and a normal life and to keep every child safe from the monsters like Nightshade. But he would want justice served. Justice is blind, but I am not. If the monster isn't killed, it will slay more innocent people. Maybe you're right to lock me up, if only for their safety."

"If there is anything that I can do…" he said softly, wanting to comfort her.

She walked away from him and Mort, still holding herself and shook her head. "Was any one else hurt? Was he alone when he died?" she asked softly.

"That lawyer Mr. Brook was there - he gave the reporters what for when they were trying to get photos." She winced at the words, and then they saw a puzzled expression on her face.

"Any leads?" asked Mort.

Seth shrugged. Both men moved off out of the cell to give her a private moment. "The reporters feel that it's tied into his last case. Mort, Jessica told me a few hours ago that his life was in danger. I didn't listen then, and in view of everything that has happened I'm beginning to suspect that Jess was right in her suspicions all along. I don't know if a call to him would have saved his life…"

Mort shook his head. "Phone system isn't working quite right. You wouldn't have been able to call out any way."

Seth cleared his throat. "Jessie feels that the phones are being tapped. There is a distinct possibility that our town has been compromised by this – organization." Mort drew in a breath.

"Here? In Cabot Cove where the crime rate is 2000 below the national average? Organizations for a crime syndicate?" Mort looked back at Taylor who just stood looking out the window fighting to keep control.

It was near dark when Gabriel pulled into the lot beside the rented apartment. Gabriel helped his companion inside and carried the bags into the two bedroom apartment on the outside of town. In a short time Gabriel was inside the police station with a folder under his arm.

"I'm here to secure the release of Ms. Taylor Andrews. I have with me a notarized copy of her employment profile that indicates she does not have a criminal record…"

Mort took the file from him and didn't even open it. "We know. However, she has threatened to kill some people, and in view of the attempt to frame her, we feel it's in her best interest to keep her here."

"Has she agreed to this confinement? - may I see her?"

Mort walked him back to the cell and unlocked the door. She stood in silence looking out the window at the stars. She didn't turn around when he called her name, or even when he went directly behind her and repeated it. It was only when he touched her shoulder that she turned and began beating her fists upon his chest.

"YOU PROMISED you would take CARE of him YOU PROMISED!" she said, her body shaking with fury.

He didn't stop her blows. He only cupped her face in his hands and said softly, "We have."

She stepped back from him and turned away, hugging herself. Gabriel stepped out of the cell and went to Mort. "We need you to call for a search warrant to raid the Nightshade shop."

Mort tilted his head and leaned back on the chair. "Won't do us a bit of good, each time we do, there isn't any thing for us to find, and every scrap of evidence is gone. I don't have the man power ether, not that I am sure of any more. They would know about it too before the ink is dry on the paper."

"It's what we are counting on. Will you work with us on this, sheriff? We need as many private citizens that you can swear into being deputies."

Mort looked back at Taylor and nodded. "I know of four that should jump at the chance. Just tell me how the company that you two work for became involved in this case?"

Gabriel looked back at Taylor who was still looking out the window. He returned his attention to Mort and said quietly, "From the research gathered by the district attorney office the company Nightshade was created several years ago, based on an author's

historical research of the drug. The book was called _Belladonna_. Sutton House was the publishing company. The owner of Sutton House was killed that year, and his murder skyrocketed popularity of the all of the books they printed that year. Especially that one. It spread as a cult, and then into merchandising. Within months of its opening, people in the community began to die. Crime rose and the incidents of child mortality increased as well. Sutton House had became the parent company to Nightshade, handling the publicity, and shipping of the new age books published by them with exclusive distribution rights to the books and materials published by the company. Raids have been planned, and the company always comes up clean. They changed names, to Coventry House to protect their investments in the entire company."

"Then if you're telling them that you're coming, how can we make this one any more effective? Ms. Andrews has informed me of the case. I know the odds, but how do you plan to get them on this?"

Gabriel gave him a smile.

Floyd and Andy looked at each other as they quietly entered the telephone switchboard office. Floyd looked at his watch and nodded. They heard the ring from the sheriff's office, and it being put through. Quietly they stepped closer. Andy aimed the video camera at the switchboard and caught her taking notes as she listened in on the conversation. He saw her pale and then after disconnecting the call, hurriedly reached for another plug and made the connection.

Floyd stepped forward and placed the muzzle against her temple as they heard Megs voice on the other line: "Hello?"

Floyd pulled the plug and hand cuffed her as he recited, "You have the right to remain silent…" Andy used tweezers and gloves as he picked through the trash. In it he found references to conversations dealing with Nightshade that she had overheard. Floyd

shook his head and clicked his tongue.

Jessica regarded Seth as he poured coffee for both of them. "Why on earth would he have you come here at this hour? What is going on, Seth?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_Floyd and Andy looked at each other as they quietly entered the telephone switchboard office. Floyd looked at his watch and nodded. They heard the ring from the sheriff's office, and it being put through. Quietly they stepped closer. Andy aimed the video camera at the switchboard and caught her taking notes as she listened in on the conversation. He saw her pale and then after disconnecting the call, hurriedly reached for another plug and made the connection._

_Floyd stepped forward and placed the muzzle against her temple as they heard Megs voice on the other line: "Hello?" _

_Floyd pulled the plug and hand cuffed her as he recited, "You have the right to remain silent…" Andy used tweezers and gloves as he picked through the trash. In it he found references to conversations dealing with Nightshade that she had overheard. Floyd_

_shook his head and clicked his tongue._

_Jessica regarded Seth as he poured coffee for both of them. "Why on earth would he have you come here at this hour? What is going on, Seth?"_

Seth handed the cup to her. "He was very cryptic but he said that he had to get something first, and then he would be right over… Jess, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Doubting you in the first place. I should have listened to you and so should have Mort, and then all of this wouldn't have happened."

Jessica went to her dearest friend and said softly, "Seth, you are the one friend in a thousand ..." she began. She was interrupted by the knock on the door. Mort, Taylor and a young man standing in the shadows were there.

"Doc, Mrs. F. we need your help."

"Of course Mort, anything," said Seth.

Mort breathed a sigh of relief. "Good I'll swear you in on the way."

Gabriel said from the shadows, "I have two others that I will bring and meet you there."

Mort looked at him, "Do they need to be sworn in too?"

Gabriel shook his head and stepped back into the street. The three of them stepped into the police cruiser as Mort swore them in to be temporary deputies for the state of Maine.

Tipper had dozed off after coming home from the de- quilling on her bent bamboo sofa. The sharp wrap of knuckles on the door windowpane interrupted her dreams. She saw the familiar hat and tossing aside the covers went to her side door. With Mort were Taylor, Jessica and Seth.

Tipper opened the door. Taylor said softly to her "It ends tonight. Will you help us?"

"You betcha." Tipper flew around the house grabbing her windbreaker, her Red Sox baseball cap, and her tranquilizer rifle while Mort briefly swore her in as a temporary deputy. There was a joyful little yip as she stepped outside, and looking down she saw Sydney straining at the end of her leash, her tail wagging with the speed of a boat propeller.

"This must be Sydney," she said to Taylor. "Let me guess – she's been trained to sniff for narcotics, right?" She had meant it as a joke, but no one laughed.

"Yeah, actually," Mort answered. "It's a long story. Look, we'd better get going."

Tipper followed Mort, Seth, Jessica, and Taylor back toward the waiting patrol cruisers, where Floyd and Andy were waiting. She took one glance back at her house, checking to make sure she'd left the porch light on, and saw a tall, fair-haired young man standing in the pool of light cast by the low-wattage bulb. As she watched, he beckoned to someone standing in the shadows, who nodded and set off in another direction, across her yard. As he passed under a street lamp, Tipper recognized him as the gentleman afflicted with the

barbecue sauce that she'd seen hanging around Jessica's house.

Tipper tapped Taylor on the shoulder. "Hey, who is that guy, anyway?" she asked.

Taylor glanced back. "Him? That's Gabriel, he's my adjunct."

"No, I mean the other guy."

"What other guy?"

Tipper looked back; the other man had disappeared. "Nothing," she said.

It was late; the Nightshade shop was closed up and dark, with no signs of life inside. A "closed" sign hung crookedly in the front window; padlocked chains looped through the door handles to hold them locked shut. Mort nodded to Floyd, who came forward with a pair of hefty metal cutters. He snipped through the chains, which Mort caught in his hands before they could clatter noisily to the ground.

"Okay, this is the plan," he said to the others. "I'm going in with Mrs. F and the dog to look for the drugs. I want the rest of you to cover all the exits. Seth, you're at the back door with Andy. Gabriel will take the side door, Taylor, you're to keep an eye on this front door with Floyd. Tipper, there's a fire escape with an exit off the second floor, if you wouldn't mind climbing up there?"

"Sure," Tipper said. She slung the tranquilizer gun across her back by the strap, and began to climb the wooden steps on the side of the building.

"Great. That just leaves the basement exit." He peered into the darkness, and found Gabriel standing outside of the light of the nearby street lamp. "Hey Gabriel, where's that other person you promised me?"

"Already in place, with one other person I drafted along the way," Gabriel replied.

"Fine. Are we all set, then? Good. Come on, Mrs. F, you and I are going in." Mort took Sydney's leash from Taylor. Sydney gave Mort a questioning gaze as if to ask "Do you know what your doing?" before glancing back to her. Taylor gave Sydney a hand signal to go with him. It was hard standing outside while they entered, but the fewer people inside to contaminate evidence, the better. He and Jessica stepped inside quietly.

The interior of the cluttered store was dark, the atmosphere made all the more black for the heavy sweet smell that seemed to thicken the air in the room. Mort took a cautious sniff. "Is that the incense smell you and Taylor were telling me about?" he asked.

"No," said Jessica. "It's similar, but not quite the same. Probably they've taken to burning a perfectly harmless incense to cover the traces of the drug since the trouble began."

Mort took an extra flashlight out of his pocket and handed it to Jessica. "You lead the way," he said.

She switched on the flashlight and aimed its focused beam around the interior of the shop. "The office was in the back," she said as she picked her way among racks of tie-dyed clothing and shelves stocked with gargoyle figures of various sizes. "But I think there is another room in back of that – I got the impression, from my first visit here, that it was a secret; the door had been fairly well concealed."

The office was cluttered with papers, most of which seemed to be invoices for the delivery of legitimate merchandise. A piece of curled up fax paper caught Jessica's eye, lying on the floor next to the wastebasket. "Mort, look," she said.

The fax was of the front page of a Los Angeles newspaper. Picking it up, Mort read the headline aloud: "'Nightshade investigation moves forward despite D.A.'s murder.'" He looked at Jessica. "Looks like you were right, Mrs. F."

At that moment Sydney let out a single high-pitched yip, and scrabbled at an oriental rug draped across the back wall of the office.

"The hidden door," Jessica said. "Someone's behind it."

Mort pulled the excited Sydney back and handed her leash to Jessica. Drawing his gun, he positioned himself next to the door. "Stand back, Mrs. F," he said, and kicked it open.

A flight of stairs led down into blackness. Sydney strained at her leash, whining frantically and scrabbling at the top step. "I guess we go down," Mort said.

Jessica nodded mutely, and let Sydney lead the way. At the bottom of the steps the found themselves in a basement, cluttered with scarred furniture and stacked from floor to ceiling with rows of crates and boxes. Sydney pulled them over to one particular stack of crates, each locked with a padlock, and increased the intensity of her sniffing, then sat back and barked, very well pleased with herself...

Mort indicated to Jessica to point the beam of the flashlight to a lock on a crate. He extracted a pair of cutters from his belt, used the bolt cutters to open the crate and examined the labels on the containers.

"Narcotics and opiates," he said grimly. "All of them. There's enough of the stuff here to get the entire Midcoast addicted. Good work, Sydney."

"That's what I was afraid of. We could have stopped this before Mort, if …"

"I know, and Seth and I should have listened. Come on; let's get back upstairs and …"

He got no farther before someone pushed Jessica aside and grabbed the sheriff from behind, holding a cloth soaked in the insidious drug over his face with one hand and twisting the flashlight out of his grip with the other. It clattered to the floor and rolled out of reach, throwing the area where Mort struggled with his attacker in the dark. Jessica heard a crash of boxes, and then a grunt as Mort went down. Sydney, with the leash released, avoided the struggle, then darted to Mort's attacker and began to worry the pant leg with a deep growl coming from her tiny body. The attacker shook her off and stepped back. Jessica hurried over to where he lay very still. Sydney placed her body between the attacker and Jessica, snarling and barking in a threatening manner.

"Mort!" Jessica cried softly, falling to her knees at his side to look for a pulse. At that moment a second torch was switched on, and brilliant light hit her full in the face. Shielding her eyes, she slowly got to her feet and faced the mastermind of the Nightshade

organization.

At her post outside of the front door of the Nightshade shop, Taylor, all her senses strained to the breaking point, heard her dog's faint bark from inside. The bark became more insistent. "Sydney's found something," she said to Floyd. "I'm going in." Before Floyd could say anything to stop her, she disappeared inside.

Trying to remember the layout of the store, she made her way back to the office and down the stairs into the basement, where she saw Mort slumped unconscious on the floor and Jessica confronting a man she thought she recognized. Then she remembered where she had seen his face before – a photograph in a folder on Anthony's desk, a curiously

familiar Nightshade employee that she spotted before the drug in the incense had overcome her. It was the missing star witness from the State of California vs. Nightshade, Inc.

Blinded by the light of the man's high-powered torch, Jessica seemed rooted where she stood.

"My name is Kent Fordham," he said. "Welcome to my lair." He had the business end of a 45 pointed directly at Jessica's head.

"Your efforts to enslave this town with your drugs have failed," Jessica said. "Despite everything you have done to divert attention from yourself and to keep me safely shut away at home, you've been found out. It's over."

"Is it?" Fordham said mockingly. "Your Sheriff has been overpowered, the Orange County D.A. is dead, and you are here alone, in my power."

"Not alone," said Jessica. "Tell me, did you kill Bartholomew Dixon?"

Fordham gave a short laugh. "Not directly," he said. "That was handled by someone else. But yes, we all follow the orders, even to kill... He'd outlived his usefulness, and in this business when you no longer need a tool, you throw it away."

As he spoke, Taylor, from her perspective, could see a figure creeping up behind Jessica. It was a woman, and in her hands was a piece of metal pipe, which she slowly raised to strike. Taylor tried to cry out a warning, but the words stuck in her throat. She knew that if she warned Jessica, Kent would fire on both of them. Something was so familiar about the murky shadow of the woman; Taylor's concentration was diverted into identifying her.

Her attention riveted by Fordham, Jessica was unaware of the danger she was in. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, she heard a voice speak softly in her ear:

"Duck, Jess, now!"

She recognized the voice instantly, and in amazement she spun around to look behind her … but there was no one there. But the action probably saved her life, because as the woman swung her makeshift club at her head, it dealt her a glancing blow instead of a killing one. But a glancing blow was enough; Jessica joined Mort and landed stunned on the ground.

"You IDIOT!" the woman hissed from the shadows. "The one place that we could have cleaned up on, and you had to attract attention by attacking her in the first place. The Gathering cannot be postponed! Too many are coming here to turn them away from this chosen ground. Looks like it's a job for our watch dog to deal with these two… Go on - get out before others come… Give me that gun, you can't get caught with that one, its one they would know was from this location." She glared down at Sydney who was lunging with snaps to her ankles. Sydney dodged the well-placed kick in her direction, and held her position, defending Mort and Jessica with her snarls.

Fordham regarded her. Mabel stood glaring at him with all the anger in her heart. "All that you see here is only a small part of the plan. Do not assume that your way is one that is the truth, or why this is necessary.' For a moment he stood breathing hard , then took the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat from the cellar exit. The woman strode forward toward the two figures on the ground. Sydney bravely sunk her teeth into the pants material of the woman and began to worry the fabric with her sharp teeth. She raised the pipe over Jessica again, apparently intent on finishing what she had started.

"No!" Taylor yelled, and flew at the woman, tackling her from behind. It sent both of them sprawling on the floor. But her opponent was strong, young and agile. She would not be subdued so easily, even in the face of all of Taylor's fury. She fought back, and in the struggle Taylor banged her head hard against a table leg, dazing her momentarily and allowing the other woman to gain the advantage. When the stars cleared from her eyes, she found herself pinned to the floor, staring up into the face of the woman who had attacked Jessica, a face she now recognized all too well.

Suddenly everything became horribly clear to Taylor Andrews. "Mabel!" she said darkly in cold fury. Her hand reached up, grasped a shank of Mabel's hair, and gave it a vicious yank trying to throw off her balance. Mabel shrieked in pain and indignation.

Perched on the metal balcony of the second story fire escape Tipper fingered her tranquilizer rifle nervously. A chill wind was whispering in off the Sea, making her shiver; she wished she had grabbed a heavier jacket. So far nothing was happening, and with each passing minute her anxiety was growing. To calm herself, she started reciting the names of the cranial nerves: "Olfactory, Optic, Oculomotor, Trochlear …"

Was that a noise from inside? Shouting? A dog's howl? Could such a noise come from a dog so small? Tipper was suddenly on full alert. "Steady now," she told herself. "Trigeminal, Abducent, Facial … hello, what's this?"

Before she could name Cranial Nerve VIII, a moving shadow caught her attention. Sure enough, someone was sneaking around from the back of the building. The figure came into her full view, and Tipper recognized Meg trying to beat a silent retreat from the sinking ship. In an instant she had raised her tranquilizer gun to her shoulder, targeted Meg in the crosshairs of her sights, and fired. Meg let out a cry and grabbed at her shoulder, pulling out the red feathered tranquilizer dart but not before enough of the powerful sedative had entered her system to bring her down. As she sank to the ground she looked up at the veterinarian, her lips soundlessly mouthing a phrase.

"Same to you," Tipper growled. She slung the rifle over her shoulder, and leapt down the rickety wooded stairs to join the fray.

"You BITCH!" Taylor snarled. "You killed him! It wasn't enough to undermine everything he did, you had to kill him!"

"Of course I killed him," Mabel said, not relaxing her grip on her, trying to gain the upper hand. The two women rolled on the dusty floor, each trying to gain the advantage. "I was losing control, and every time I turned around, there you were, you and your little rat-faced dog, getting in the way, spying on me, and usurping the trust that Anthony used to place in me!"

Taylor managed to free herself from Mabel's grasp and push herself out of arms reach. Mabel pulled a gun and pointed it at Taylor as the flashlight illuminated Mabel. "So you were the one who sabotaged my vacation!"

"Yes, I did all that. I thought I was taking you out of the picture. How was I to know you'd stumble right into the middle of the whole Nightshade scheme?"

"Whose idea was it to frame me?"

"Meg's," said Mabel. "She already her some of the key players in town under her thumb – the hotel manager, the telephone operator, others - so it was easy to arrange."

"And the car bomb," Taylor said. "I suppose you arranged that too."

"Enough of this," Mabel said. "You've been a thorn in my side ever since Anthony met you! You should have died a long time ago, and after what s going to happen, your going to wish you were dead anyway… Ta Ta!" She pointed the gun – Taylor recognized it from the Decorative Weapons display in the store, but as she raised her arm, someone caught her by the wrist and jerked her to her feet. Mabel dropped the gun and spun around with a shriek that was abruptly cut off when Taylor's rescuer knocked the secretary out cold with a well-placed fist across her jaw that sent her to the floor in a heap. Slightly dazed by what had happened, Taylor scrambled to her feet to see who had saved her. She recognized him instantly despite the bandage wrapped around his forehead.

"Anthony!" she cried, and flew into his arms. Sydney, yapping joyfully, danced around their feet.

"Hello, sweetheart," Anthony Thomas said as he smoothed her hair. "Not quite the Maine coast vacation I had envisioned for us, but I did promise I'd catch up with you here, didn't I?"

Taylor held onto him and said softly "When I heard that Donald was with you, I knew that he was capable of hiding you in plain sight, it felt as if someone had cut out my heart. I thought by not marrying you I could spare you from the pain when…But even not married – it hurt…"

"Shhhh dearest. That's a long way away… "

Tipper reached the outside cellar entrance just as the Barbecue Sauce man was emerging. Gabriel was standing outside waiting for him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You did well," he said. The stranger nodded silently, then turned and walked away, disappearing into the gathering fog blowing in off the harbor. Tipper never saw him again.

At that point Seth, Andy and Floyd joined them.

"Meg's unconscious by the north end of the building," Tipper said. "I nailed her with a tranq dart."

"Good shooting," Gabriel said. "I'll go see to her; the rest of you can go down and help with the mopping up. Kent's waiting for you at the front entrance, he's a bit tied up at the moment other wise, he would be back here..." With that, he turned and vanished into the shadows. The four of them hurried into the building and down to the basement. Taylor winced at the sudden bright over head lights.

"Jess!" gasped Seth as he hurried down to the two injured ones. He carefully raised her shoulders and held her in his arms until the ambulance came for them.

Sydney sat curled on Anthony's lap as Tipper and Taylor prepared tea for the group that had gathered in Jessica's living room. Both Jess and Mort had a few scuff marks from the event, but were no worse for the ware. Seth and Gabriel were deep in discussion about the benefits of herbal remedies off to the side of the living room. Tipper studied Anthony for a moment and then asked Taylor quietly, "Have you told him? Does he know?"

"What?"

"Look, a guy like him doesn't come around every day, or even every year. Marry him. I would."

Taylor just shrugged. "I have an important decision to make first, and then he and I have to talk…"

Gabriel entered the kitchen and picked up the serving tray with the teacups on it just as the whistle to the kettle began to sing. The three of them went into the living room.

"… And I can't see any benefit to this – shunning," said Jessica. "No matter if I am here, or someplace else something happens. It wasn't job burnout at all!"

Tipper chuckled. "You can't say you followed the rules for the shunning, Jessica! You had that guy with you every time I saw you."

All heads turned to her. "What guy?" asked Seth, his eyebrow arched upward.

"Some man in the closet that you haven't told us about Mrs. F?"

"That guy, with the barbecue sauce on his jacket… You saw him Taylor, that second day that you were here…" Taylor looked a bit puzzled shaking her head slowly. "A natty looking guy about 6 foot something, grey hair, thin build…dark eyebrows…" Her eyes fell on a small photo on Jessica's mantle. "That's HIM!"

Jessica looked at the photo shaking her head for a second then fled the room. "Excuse me."

Tipper saw the exasperated looks on Seth and Mort's faces. Gabriel followed Jessica out of the living room, outside to her back porch.

"What? What did I say wrong? What's going on? That's the guy that I saw…"

Seth said softly, "Tipper, that man is Preston Giles. He was Jessica's first publisher, from Sutton House publishers Sutton house became Coventry, and, well, the two of them fell in love …"

Anthony tilted his head and said puzzled. "Sutton House is the parent company of Nightshade!"

Jessica could hear the voices in the living room telling Tipper about Preston. She felt tightness in her chest, then a soft gentle hand on her shoulder, one that she remembered from the garden. She turned and saw Gabriel.

"I know you… I've seen you before. You were the one with Frank when he died." Was it - did Preston really come back? I heard his voice in the cellar…"

Gabriel cupped her cheek with his hand "You are never alone Jessica."

Taylor and Anthony walked hand in hand down the streets of Cabot Cove with Sydney tucked in her coat pocket. Around them the falling leaves swirled and the nip of the sea was in the air. They were off to Ye Old Tavern for dinner.

"Do you think it's over now? Mabel said something about a Gathering, that we couldn't stop…Something worse than death awaits this town. Anthony, we can't let that happen," said Taylor, clearly worried.

Anthony took a deep breath and looked around before saying, "It IS a beautiful little town…"

"No crime, not normally and housing here is very inexpensive," said Taylor softly.

"Housing? It gets VERY cold here in the winter…" laughed Anthony.

Taylor shrugged. "Better than earthquakes. Even with the threat of this – Gathering, I feel its safe here." She fell silent. Anthony stopped them just at the corner of the shops. He turned her to face him and pulled her off out of the sidewalk into an area out of the traffic's way.

"It sounds like you want to stay here…" Anthony saw the struggle on her face.

"Well, I don't have a job to go back to. Gabriel wants me to have Donald fight it. Once the home office heard that I had a criminal record, and it's STILL in the computers, that was it. My credit reports shot and I really don't want to go back to that smog… The only thing that I love about LA is you. And I do love you enough to go back, but I ask if you love me enough to stay here, with me?"

"Oh Taylor…" he said. He looked over her shoulder and returned a wave.

"Who?" He indicated the shops. "Just Tipper. Well, I know that here Seth and Jessica would take you care of, and it seems as if you made friends with Tipper. Sydney likes her too… Sweetheart, I have another year on my term as D.A. I have to finish that before I

could join you here…Is this a yes, to marriage?"

"It's an 'I don't know' to marriage, but I want to be with you for the rest of my life, no matter how long that may be… The voters think you died, Anthony. You don't need to go back…"

She is interrupted by a shriek behind them and the clatter of food items hitting the pavement.

"Oh no …" said Anthony. He started towards the sound. Taylor turned and saw Tipper on top of a thin young girl with reddish brown hair. She caught the unmistakable British accent cursing in the Queen's English.

She held Anthony back as Tipper helped the woman sit up. "Omigosh! Omigosh, I am so sorry, are you all right?"

"Quite, if you could get your package off of me?"

"Oh! Yes … Are you all right? I'm Tipper…"

"Aptly named. I'm Samantha…"

Taylor looks to Anthony "Tipper strikes again…"

He chuckled and slipped his arm about her waist, drawing her near. "Let's get some of that Maine lobstahh that Seth was saying I should try…It's a good ending to the days work."

Taylor turned her head to answer and saw from the corner of her eye something sketched in the dusty window pane of a back door to a shop, something that hadn't been there the day before. She stopped and regarded the small triangle and the infinity symbol within traced on the inside of the glass.

"Ya think?" she asked, a bit distracted.


	10. Chapter 10

**Murder by Trust**

**_The continuation of Tabhairt Isteach Do_**

**Chapter Ten**

_(all the same disclaimers apply, don't own them, just like playing in the same cove...)_

Written by Kats, © April 11th 2006

_**(In memory of all those who have passed on before and wait)**_

Donna Mayberry Fletcher sat on a bar stool at the island in the center of her kitchen in their apartment, holding a wet cloth to her pounding head. She knew that she wasn't allowed to beat her husband, or her child, but that didn't make what they put her through any easier. Renting was good, it saved on the taxes and if there was a problem they could call a landlord who put them on the bottom of the list. Not only did the kitchen sink develop a clog every other day, today it was leaking. Not the lower drain area but where the faucet was - huge arcs of water that soaked her to the bone when she went to get her water for tea. She had called and informed the landlord two days ago. It still wasn't fixed and now the only way to prevent it from running all the time was to climb under the sink and turn it off at the main. Now that too was leaking.

She didn't exactly scream at the landlord or threaten him, but he called the police on the "crazy lady in 204." Of course the landlord made it seem like she called about petty things, but when they came in and stepped in two inches of water and one turned on the faucet, everyone got drenched and she stood there and lost it. Of course the drain decided to back up just then, spewing a glop of something over the officer while the landlord went on about her saying things were wrong, and nothing was wrong except she was a crazy lady and waving his arms around like a chicken in front of her face.

Grady had chosen that moment to come home and heard the landlord, and not seeing the police there said, "Be careful, the last guy that got on her nerves ended up dead in a pile of frozen mackerel."

"It was cod," she snapped before she realized that the police had their hands on their guns. It took half an hour and a few calls to get things straightened out. The police called a plumber who took another hour to get things fixed. The landlord just wanted him to turn the water off and forget it. Donna sat in her kitchen with the wet cloth to her forehead knowing her day by the noon mail was just going to get better.

11 year old Frank Fletcher sat on the edge of his bed peering down at the cards spread over his bedcovers. He cracked open the cover of the book that was in his right hand and read a few paragraphs before turning over another card. His brow furrowed. It wasn't what he expected. He was so absorbed in what he was doing he failed to hear the knock on his bedroom door, and didn't react until his door was swinging open. Hastily he swept the cards together and shoved them into the book, and pushed the book under his pillow and leaned on it.

"Frank? What are you doing?"

"Uh, nothing Dad. Just thinking."

Grady Fletcher looked at his son. He could always tell when something was troubling him, or when he wasn't telling the truth. "It's too nice of a day to be lying in a stuffy room. Isn't there a window garden that needs to be weeded, or a garage that has to be swept out?" asked Grady, gently testing his son.

"Did that this morning Dad, and I took out the garbage, and folded the laundry for Mom. She seemed like she was having a bad day," said Frank as he brushed back the curly sandy blond bangs from his forehead.

Grady sighed. "Yes, I know. And I know we didn't ask you to do that, so the question is, why? Either you wanted to avoid someone or get some free time to do…something else besides studying."

As Frank shifted on the bed to sit up a bit, Grady saw the corner of the card and raising his eyebrow, leaned forward and picked the card up. For a moment Grady had thought the worst - that Frank, learning to be an adolescent, had found his way into an unseemly shop and purchased things that would embarrass his mother.

"It's not what you think, Dad!" said Frank. "I'm not into the worship thing with them like the other kids, I just wanted to… to, well, know and understand them."

Grady ran his hand through his thinning hair. He had taken in a breath and tried very hard to be in control when he let it out.

"Frank. Your mother and I have talked to you before about this stuff. It isn't safe, and there are other things that we would rather you were working on, like your English report for next term."

"I know, Dad. I just haven't figured out what to write for it, and I'm not - using the cards, I am just reading about them. There is a whole world of things that people never talk about and I want to know the stuff. I don't want to be afraid of what I don't know," said his son in a pleading tone. English was his least favorite subject. He hated it, and the teacher who wrote those long notes to his parents asking why he couldn't understand simple sentence structure.

"Frank. It's not just that - these things that you have. These Tarot cards. They are like a key through a doorway, and when people get involved with them, they get lost in them as well. They wrap their whole lives up in believing something that could be random chance, or something darker. And the cards lead to the board, and that - well. The boards are – an open invitation to something very dark."

"I know Dad. I have listened. I want to learn though. I want to understand about all of this."

"Why?" asked Grady with honest concern.

"Because, well. I have a friend who had a reading done. And she kept a list of everything the person said, and it came true. But I was reading in the book, the meaning of the cards that were laid down, and what she had didn't match up with what the fortune teller said would happen. She was told she would suffer a great loss twice. A week later her house was robbed, and they don't know how it happened, but whoever did it had a key to get in, and they were thinking it was her boyfriend, and she had to give him up. And her parents blamed her for the robbery. But the cards she had – don't say that at all."

"Ah, well, there is another point, that they are used by unscrupulous people and not by young gentlemen. Your mother and I hope that you will decide to undertake an interest in a productive career," said Grady letting the air from his lungs out slowly.

"Dad, not everyone can be an accountant or an event planner…" Frank said seriously. "I want to learn things, but not like, well, school stuff. There are other things out there that people have forgotten. That's the stuff that interests me."

"You sound like your Aunt Jess," smiled Grady. He saw the dismissive look on his son's face. Being compared to an elderly 75 year old aunt was probably not a high point in his life. When Frank was younger they would take trips to see Jessica all the time, but once he started school, it became harder. Grady did make the trips to see her once a month, to do some repairs on the house, and they spoke on the phone daily, just a call in the morning to see if everything was okay. Frank wasn't always able to go up – his schooling was paramount, and for a while his grades had slipped so badly that for a few terms he had no life except to study with tutors to make it through school. Summer school and intensive work with tutors for the last 5 years had taken away any chance of going up to Cabot Cove for a vacation for him. The tutors had said the same thing. He was a bright boy, but what the teachers were teaching didn't interest him. Grady realized that Frank had not seen his Aunt Jess since he was about 8, and even then it was to hide shyly behind Donna the whole time. He had found out that she had been a school teacher, and from there, well, he just didn't want to have anything to do with her except being polite.

Frank looked up. He heard the sound of the mail box being opened and closed and his mother opening the door. Grady could see his son almost cringe. He knew his parents had been on the phone discussing his grades, and he had really tried to bring them up. The principal had been non-committal about if he would have to start summer school on Monday. He understood when his father had said to enjoy the day outside; it might be his only chance of having any vacation at all. He closed his eyes as he heard his mother coming up the steps. The phone rang, and she answered it. Both Grady and Frank were looking at the door when she came in. She held an opened envelope in her hand, and a note pad in the other. They could see where her hair was wet from the cloth and her eyes were red rimmed from crying before. She gave a sniff then said,

"Mr. Danvers called. Mr. Peterson caught chicken pox from his son, and can't finalize the Bishop account. He wanted to know if you would be able to, and I told him you would call him shortly…"

Frank looked at his father. He had overheard his parents talking about that account. Grady had been the primary accountant on it, but because of summer school, and other things, wasn't able to do the required traveling that came with it. They had tried and it didn't work. Frank had promptly given the tutor such a hard time he had called them after a week, and the sitter had refused to deal with his antics a day more. Grady had told them it was more important for the customer to be happy, and put Peterson on the travel end of it to finish the deal they had been working on. Their son was small and his wife didn't mind staying at the hotels with her son during it. Most of them were resorts. It had been ages since Donna had a vacation. Dealing with Frank had been her primary concern.

"I could stay here by myself, or you could get someone to stay with me while I go to summer school," said Frank a bit too eagerly.

Donna handed the envelope to Grady and for a moment he looked at the contents. He gave a sigh, looked at Donna, and then standing up he went out of the room. He closed the door and they could hear him on the phone speaking to someone. It was a few moments before he came back in. He sat down on the bed and looked at his son.

"I've called Mr. Danvers, and his secretary has set up the flights for us… Frank, we wanted to wait until we got the report card to tell you this, but you managed to pass this year, except for one course, English. Your principal has agreed to the suggestion that your mother and I had for him. We both feel that you being here over the summer with your friends hanging around are distracting you. The account has to be managed, and your mother needs a break. We decided to send you to stay this summer with a relative who will help tutor you until you're able to complete the work required to not only pass, but to have an acceptable grade for next year as well. This slacking off has gone on far too long."

"Fine. Send me off. They can't make me study any more than the rest of the others," he said sullenly.

Donna looked at Grady. Frank was right. The last time that Grady and she had to have someone take care of Frank due to the job taking them both away, according to her parents, had been close to nightmarish for everyone concerned. Frank had spent the first day in a tree refusing to come down. Her father, Franklin Mayberry's answer was to leave him up there - but her mother Maisie Mayberry had been disinclined to do that and called the fire company. By then the whole town had turned out to see what had happened. Frank had refused to eat anything unless it began with a Q. The following day he wouldn't eat anything at all. He refused to do any work for the tutor, and didn't speak for 3 days. Maisie had discovered he had packed candy in his bag, and was living off of that. Once the candy was taken away, Frank ran away to be found at the bus station by the authorities. After that he became sullen. It wasn't until their return that Donna's temper took over and he managed to squeak by with the lowest grades that the tutor had ever seen.

Grady saw Frank's arrogant smirk. He knew that given the chance, Frank would do things to make life as difficult as possible for whoever was taking care of him. Donna had questioned if it was wise to send such a hyperactive, high strung child to Grady's elderly aunt, and the answer was, "Do we have any other choice? If he gets out of line, Mort will lock him up for a while."

"Grady, I'm serious!"

She saw Grady's expression didn't change. So am I."

Frank sat up and gathered all of the cards and the book and pushed them into the carrying case. "Fine. So, when do I leave for Grandma and Grandpa's? What did you do to get them to take me back?"

Donna breathed in and let it out slowly. "Your Grandparents aren't the ones who will be taking care of you for the summer. You will be staying at your Aunt Jessica's."

"NO WAY! There is NO FRIGGEN WAY that I am spending the ENTIRE SUMMER with a SMELLY OLD LADY!" he yelled waving his arms in the air to emphasize his point. "No No No No No. You can't make me go, and I won't go."

"Well you should have thought about that before you skipped 40 of your English classes!" said Donna, exasperated. "And you should have thought about it before you alienated every single tutor in 50 miles. Honestly! I don't know why you think it's cool to be so---"

"Stupid? Yeah, that's me, your stupid son."

"We have never called you that, Frank," said Grady gently. "You're a brilliant child. Sometimes things just don't work correctly"

"And I was going to say arrogant!" said Donna. She took a breath. "Your flight leaves this evening. I have everything all packed for you and your father and I will be taking you to the airport and checking you in. I want you to understand something, Frank Fletcher. It is not the same as getting on a bus to go to the zoo. The airlines do not tolerate any out bursts, any high jinks, or any disruptive behavior. They don't care that you are 11 years old. They take the welfare of everyone on board and the security of the airline above all. They will put you in prison with out a trial and you won't get out until you're a grandfather. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR YOUNG MAN?"

Frank swallowed, and then nodded. His mother was just working up to a second full head of steam, and while he knew arguing the point would bring no joy, part of his mind was sorting through the things that needed to be done before he was shipped off. The more time that he spent arguing, the less time he had to deal with things.

"FINE," he said standing up and dragging his pack across the room. He began reaching for his electronic game system when his mother said, "No. That and your computer stay behind. As well as your cell phone. You will be out of range and Aunt Jess will not be paying for your long distance internet access. The library in Cabot Cove has a computer that you're allowed to go to with supervision."

"Aw Mum!"

"No 'Aw Mum' me! I know what happened the last time you went to the library alone!"

Frank scowled. Yeah, she would remember that. On the pretext of going to study for a report, he went to the library and instead of using the ladder or calling for assistance he just climbed up the shelves to get a book that to this day he wouldn't tell his parents what the title was. The shelves of books came down doing untold damage to several hundred books. Frank escaped with just a twisted ankle, but he was not allowed in the library again. He put his pack on the floor with a thump. Something wasn't right. He turned and looked at his parents. "Hang on. You already had me packed? You knew I was going even before you got my report card, or the call from Dad's boss, and you have my tickets. How long have you known about this?"

Grady's voice said softly from where he still sat, "A month, since our last visit with your principal… It was the only way that we could convince him to not suspend you from school."

Frank tilted his head. "How would shipping me off to an old aunt's house for the summer prevent that?"

Donna's sudden giggle couldn't be stopped. Frank looked between his father and his mother, very confused. His father was sitting there looking a bit worried now, as his mother was leaning against the wall gasping for breath.

"This is too weird…" Frank said.

His mother pulled a small purse-like thing out of her pocket that had long strings on each side. Frank had seen his dad wear one like it when he traveled. She tossed it on the bed. She wore a happier expression on her face than when she first entered the room. "In there are some credit cards. They have a pre-set limit, and if you use them wisely, they will last the entire summer. If you don't, you're s.o.l. It also contains your passport for ID purposes."

"Where would I be going that I need a passport? I have my student ID…"

Donna and Grady just shrugged. His mother was still smiling. "You won't know until you get there…" said Grady. He eyed Donna with concern. Taking her by the elbow he led her out of the room and closed the door between them and their son.

They gave Frank a good two hours to absorb the fact that his summer plans had radically changed. Frank used the time to get online and list his favorite web hang outs on a web page, then he checked his email. There were two that demanded his attention. The first he recognized from his friend Dot by his cool gold avatar of a triangle with an hourglass inside of it. He clicked open the first and read the information. Dot, for all that Frank knew, or cared, was a kid his age who had the same interests as Frank did, and much better grades in school. Dot lived in LA, and had to fight his 3 brothers for the use of the computer every day. Frank rather liked Dot, but he was smart enough not to tell even those he felt were friends anything. Dot's email hinted that the group had a lot of problems that were going to come to light very soon. He couldn't tell Frank any more and cautioned him to remain silent about what he had been told. Frank knew that in order to get more inside track information, he had to curb his interest in what Dot was talking about.

His parents just didn't understand the internet. His mom used it to look up recipes. His dad used the email to contact people and do some research on investment houses, but that was it. Frank had found a whole – way of dealing with things. There were gamers. People who took factual or fictional information and made a game of solving the clues in it. The latest game everyone seemed to be playing was "Where is Ben Stove?" At first Frank thought it to be real events, and it was a bitter disappointment to discover that it was some guy who was pitching the idea for either a game market, or a movie. He wanted – something really worth doing. Then his friend Dot had informed him of another group, one that searched for answers in real life events. They had a case file, and people who were in the area did the research and it wasn't a game, it was real. Real life, real people that he could go on line and look up where they lived, and where things happened and it was like standing right next to where it all went down.

Frank was a bystander in all of it. His nickname on the boards was Quillgoi. He felt himself to be the sensible one in everything, urging caution to the others in what they said or did. He was his usual vocal self about things, but he didn't get into it like the other ones did. Some of them would travel to where the events had taken place, some of the others would actually make contact with the people involved in secret and then post what had been said and done. In Frank's eyes, that was one of the most stupid things they could do.

The last case they had been working was regarding a girl older than he who had been found at the road side early one morning near her home in Orange County. She had been beaten so badly that the police refused to let her parents see her to identify her body. While the case took place in another state, and was several months old, nothing had been discovered regarding who had done it. The last person to see her alive was the clerk at the convenience store. That was at 4 am when she left after trying to buy cigarettes. The time line they had made showed she was late coming in to her home, about 11:30 pm, she went out again to have a fight with her boyfriend in the driveway at 1:20 am, and she arrived at the convenience store at 2 am to try to buy the cigarettes. Her purse and cell phone had been found on her bed the next morning by her parents.

The moderator of the group board had made contact with the boyfriend on a chat site. After that it became a tumble of information as more of the girl's friends were investigated by the group. Frank held fast in his beliefs of who could have been capable of doing something so wrong. Everyone was in to this case for different reasons. Most of them wanted a chunk of the reward money. Some wanted to earn their living by doing this. Franks motivation, as he kept telling them, was just that her parents could sleep at night when it was all done. No one understood that. There was no material gain from it.

His second email was from the moderator of the group. It called him out on his position, and it blasted him for making a comparison that what they were doing - which in Frank's eyes was blatant harassment of the young woman's boyfriend - to how the moderator would have felt if it was done to him. Frank took a breath and typed in. "I am going to have to think about where I stand in all of this. You will get my answer soon enough." Frank set his Email on auto response. "Hey, Have a summer of tutors to deal with, leave a message and if I can and I am not grounded for the rest of my puberty I will get back to you."

He disconnected from the internet then, and unplugged his lap top. It would be so simple just to slip it in the bag… but he knew that it would show up on the x rays, and it wasn't safe to be kept in the check in bag. He lifted it. 15 pounds. It wasn't worth dragging it to wherever. His cell phone was different. He won that at school, a bean counting contest. It was small, light weight, and … the more he thought about it, being wherever his great aunt lived, was probably out of range. He put it in its case and then covered both the computer and the cell phone with a pillow sham on the bed. He noticed his father had placed the card he had picked up on the dresser. Pausing he looked at the cardboard box that the cards were in and the book. His parents didn't say anything about not taking the cards, and they didn't know about the rune set ether.

Not knowing what he was going to do for the whole summer, he grabbed what he thought would be necessities. His sketch pad, his pen box now stuffed with the tarot cards and the rune set. His parents wouldn't object to him taking a few books to read, the tarot book and the rune book fit nicely within the other two that he had picked up at the shop. Looking around the room, he thought to himself. If something happened to the house, what would he want to take from it the most? His eyes fell on the photo of his mom and dad and him that was taken at the last Christmas party. While his face showed a far away sad look, his mom and dad were looking at him as their pride and joy. Tucked behind it were two other photos. One was one of the few photos of his dad's parents, and the other was of his mom's parents. He knew his that his dad's parents died in an auto accident when he was young. Suddenly feeling very frightened he pushed the pictures into the pouch that held his passport and the credit cards and put it around his neck. The weight of it comforted him. He went down the steps dragging his book bag behind him. Donna peaked inside of it, and saw just books and his pencil case.

"Mum … I'm sorry for being such a pain, and for being a jerk around grandma and grandpa," he said softly. "Do I have to go?" he said at last.

Donna sat down on the sofa and held her hand out to Frank to come and sit beside her. "Your father and I think it would be best if you did spend some time with Aunt Jessica. She is a very special person to your father and me, and loves you just as much as if you were her own grandson. She's getting older, and we don't know how much longer we will have her. It's important that you get to know her while you can… I realize it's not the summer you were expecting. In my own way, I would like to trade places with you."

"Why?" he asked, curious.

She only gave him a smile.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

"_Mum … I'm sorry for being such a pain, and for being a jerk around grandma and grandpa," he said softly. "Do I have to go?" he said at last._

_Donna sat down on the sofa and held her hand out to Frank to come and sit beside her. "Your father and I think it would be best if you did spend some time with Aunt Jessica. She is a very special person to your father and me, and loves you just as much as if you were her own grandson. She's getting older, and we don't know how much longer we will have her. It's important that you get to know her while you can… I realize it's not the summer you were expecting. In my own way, I would like to trade places with you."_

"_Why?" he asked, curious._

_She only gave him a smile._

It was an hour later that they arrived at the airport. Because he was a minor and traveling alone both Donna and Grady were allowed to escort him to where he would board the plane. The flight attendant put a lanyard about his neck with his photo id, and his first name with his destination code on it. A bracelet went around his wrist.

"Some one will be there to meet you at Portland's airport. I don't know if it will be Floyd or Seth, but the airline people will know when you land, and get you to the right person, who will take you to Aunt Jess's house. She has all of the medical papers in case something should happen, and where we can be reached. ... Frank, your mother and I will be out of the country for a while and won't be able to get back if there is a problem, do you understand? Your Aunt Jess will take care of you if something, happens that we can't get back to you when we plan to. She's your legal guardian, in our wills."

"Dad, don't talk like that!"

"I just want you to know that someone will always be there to take care of you."

Frank gave his father a long hug, then his mother. "I love you," he said to them, and then the boarding call was made. A stewardess escorted him onto the plane and into the first class area. Frank was by the window seat nearest the terminal, and he could see his parents looking at the plane, seeing him and waving. He placed his hand on the glass and waved back. His father gathered his mother up in his arms and held her while the plane boarded, and the last that Frank saw of his parents was his father wiping the tears from his mother's eyes before the plane pulled away from the gate.

He didn't notice at first that there was someone in the seat next to him. He studied the man – at first he thought he was a kid, like him, for the man stood about four and a half feet tall. It was the presence of a stubble beard that was peaking through that convinced Frank that he was not a kid at all. The man's head was tucked against his chest and soft snores were coming from him. Frank looked at him again. The man's coat was rough dark blue linen, his shirt was – different. It had a woven pattern style that Frank had never seen before. The man had a silk scarf about his neck, and had a dark vest. In the vest pocket a slim chain lead to a gold pocket watch. Looking at the man's head again, he saw his hair was curly locks, as if it hadn't been cut for a long time. What made this man interesting was that his ears seemed to be – well, if you'd asked Frank's opinion about them, they looked a bit… elfish. Stretching his neck Frank could just see the tips of the man's shoes, and to his disappointment they were just like his dad's shoes with laces, not the buckle ones that you saw in the movies that leprechauns wore.

"Did ye lose somethin lad?" a gentle Irish burred voice asked behind him.

Franks eyes went wide and he pulled back to his seat and leaned against the window as he shook his head Even the man's accent was right for one of the wee folk. Stories of what he should do flooded his mind as he could only gaze at this man with abject curiosity. Realizing the man wanted an answer Frank couldn't help to blurt out,

"No sir, are you a leprechaun?"

The man gave him an appraising look then tilted his head. "Would ye be after m' gold if I was?" he asked with a twinkle in his hazel eyes.

Frank had to think a moment. He shook his head. "No. It would be too difficult to get it exchanged, and it wouldn't help matters in the long run."

"Ah, well, that's a wise decision then. Money isn't what the world was made for." He extended his hand. "My friends call me Willie Mac, the polite ones at least."

Frank took the man's hand and shook it "My friends call me Frank."

A stewardess came with a cart and had milk and a sandwich for Frank, and a cup of tea and another sandwich for Willie. To Frank's disappointment Willie nodded off to sleep again after he was done eating. Frank caught the attention of the stewardess as she passed by. "Is he ok?" he asked, concerned. She nodded, but didn't say any thing else.

Frank sighed and dug through his pack to find the book on runes. At first he had been excited about getting the runes set, but now, he realized it read like an English book. He thought about just tucking it in the pocket of the seat. He could leave it behind, but it had cost him a week's worth of chores to get it.

The plane gave a horrid bump. Frank stuffed the book in his back pack when the plane bumped again. He zippered his back pack and stuffed it under the seat as the plane bucked in mid-air again, forcing a frightened cry from his lips. Instinctively he hugged his chest, feeling the soft pouch hanging about his neck that held his family's pictures. He heard the DING as the 'no smoking' and 'fasten your seat belts' signs came on.

Willie Mac woke at the second bump, and at the third one heard the sound come from Frank. He reached over and patted Franks shoulder "It's alright Lad, just a bit of turbulence, happens all the time. We'll get to land soon enough." He saw Frank look at him.

"It's the method of how we get to land that concerns me," Frank said in a tight voice.

Frank looked at Willie Mac, who didn't make light of his concerns.

The summer storms delayed their landing for half an hour. Frank had thought at first to just hide his name badge that they had given him, and wiggle out of the bracelet and maybe follow after another adult. He had money. He didn't know how far it would get him, or if they could trace where he was going - and he did remember the numbers to his savings account. Not that he had his passbook with him, but he had successfully removed money from the account a few times before to pay for some things online before his parents found out. He had his passport. He could go anywhere, and never have to worry about going to any more school. The turbulence changed things though. Suddenly he wasn't too wild about being in a stormy area on his own.

As the plane taxied up to the gateway Frank turned to Willie. "Thank you," he said, extending his hand.

Willie shook it as if Frank was an adult. "It was a pleasure to meet you Frank."

The stewardess came for Frank and escorted him out of the plane. Frank saw the airport was tiny. The gift shop was just a circular area, and it had three gates - one was an international gate, the other two were local. There was just one way in and out. She took him to where an older man stood wearing a police officer's uniform and a cowboy's white hat.

"Welcome to Maine, Frank. I'm Sheriff Metzger and I will be taking you to your aunt's home."

Frank looked at him. He knew he could outrun him in a cold second, but as they had to go through the gate and there was a guard there, Frank wouldn't get far. They had his luggage ready for him by the time he reached the way out, and as Mort closed the trunk he saw that Frank had already climbed into the back seat with his back pack. He was looking, however, at a short man in a blue coat get into a taxi and as it passed them the man nodded to Frank, who returned the nod.

By the time that Mort got into the front seat, Frank was already buckled in and had pulled Mort's over coat over him. Mort looked back "So, do you want sirens, or just the lights?"

Frank just shrugged. "Sirens would wake people up. Just the lights," he said with a sigh as he leaned against his back pack. He saw the time - it was 11:30 pm, way past his bed time. The rain began to fall again as they pulled away from the curb, and into the night.

Frank was asleep by the time they reached Jessica Fletcher's house. Mort sighed. Jessica's light was on, and he could see she was in the front room waiting. Leaving the bag in the trunk, Mort opened the door and carefully lifted Frank into his arms and over his shoulder. He would come back for the back pack and bags in a bit. Jessica opened the door for them and showed Mort where Frank would be sleeping. Mort carried Frank up the stairs, and then laid him on the bed. Jess looked at Frank and for a moment, and saw a very young Grady. She sat on the bed and removed his shoes, She wasn't going to try to get him ready for bed; a blanket over him would do for tonight. She left a night light on in his room and one in the hall next to the bathroom if he would happen to wake up. Mort carried Frank's things into the house and the heavier suit case upstairs. The back pack he left by the steps. From what he felt when he picked it up, it was just books.

Mort saw Jessica just standing looking at Frank as he slept. He put the suit case down by the door, and touched her arm. Jess let out a slow breath and followed Mort back down the steps. She saw him look back up the steps then he looked at her. "If there is anything you need Mrs. F. please let me know," he said, his voice soft, but full of concern.

"Everything will be fine, Mort. Thank you for picking him up at the airport." Mort nodded. "It seems like yesterday that they brought Grady here, Frank carried him up the steps just like you did…We were watching him while they went out, and it was late. Grady wanted to stay up until they came home, but they never did… Seeing him tonight. He is very much like his father was."

Mort gave a half smile. "I have a feeling Young Mr. F. has no idea what his summer is going to be like… it's been a few years since he was here last…"

Jess nodded. "Once he learned I was a school teacher, he wouldn't say anything to me. I think I frightened him."

Clearing his throat and resisting the urge to laugh, Mort said, "Good. Kids need to have a healthy fear of adults sometimes. Especially school teachers with long rulers…"

Jess laughed softly. "And I suppose your school teachers broke a few with your name on it?"

From the look in his eyes Jess knew she was right. Mort bent over and gave Jess's cheek a kiss. "Good night, Mrs. F," he said smiling before he went out the door into the rain to where his police car was. He heard her say good night to him, and he waved as he drove off down the street to do a quick drive-by of the town on his way home.

Willie Mac paid the taxi cab driver then carried his bags down the sidewalk to the dark building and leaned them against it while he fished in his pocket for the code to the real estate box that hung on the massive oak door. It hadn't been hard to find. There was only one Oak Street in Cabot Cove, and there were three houses on Oak Street and one business. On the other side of Oak Street there was a bed and breakfast and a small parking lot that was for the boat tours that left the harbor at 8, 11 and 3 to see the whales. Willie carried his things inside and shut the door against the cold rain and relocked it from the inside. He didn't expect the lights to be working yet, or for there to be any water, but he was pleasantly surprised that the heat was working. He had spoken to the real estate person regarding the business and while there was no promise made as to when they would be turned on, it would be sometime during that week. Willie Mac looked around. There was a lot of work to be done, and it was late. Not knowing where the light switches were he pulled out a flash light and made his way up the steps to where he knew the apartment area was of the shop. There were no beds or furnishings in the rooms, just boxes and packing material. Sighing he placed his bags down and removed his shoes and his coat. He hung his coat on the hook on the back of the door, pulled a rug over him, stretched out and turned off his flash light. In a moment he fell asleep. Morning would be time enough to get things going.

Tipper Henderson stretched out in the most uncomfortable chair in the back office of the animal clinic. There were other chairs more comfortable, but she was working the night shift and the thought of a comfortable chair would have her asleep in a second. While there was nothing to do except wait for an Irish Setter bitch to whelp any hour now (the dog residing there while the owners were conveniently on vacation), she had picked up a book from the many they kept in the waiting room for the people to read while their pets were being seen by the vets. She had to be awake too for any emergency calls as well. A good book or even a bad book would keep her mind occupied while she waited. She looked over at the dog whose belly was huge. At least 3 pups that they knew of. The dog thumped her tail twice, and looked at her belly as it moved under her fur. Sighing, the dog laid her head back down and went to sleep.

Tipper opened up the book again as she rubbed her eyes. She was reading a passage regarding Belladonna and something seemed very familiar but she couldn't place her finger on it. She knew she hadn't read any of the books before. Closing the book she glanced at the cover. It had a pair of eyes on it, ones with the irises was wide open, and between the eyes was a long sharp sword with the handle that had triangle markings on it with the infinity sign interwoven into it. She looked over at the Irish setter who yawned, then back at the book. "Belladonna," she said out loud. She had to smooth back part of the cover that had become winkled to read the authors name. Thaladirith Mac. The name meant nothing to her. She turned the book onto its side and saw 'Sutton' on the inside cover - it had a note that Sutton was a subsidiary of Coventry House Publishers.

"NO WAY!" she gasped, now most certainly wide awake. She opened the book back to the first page and began reading with renewed interest. At first she had thought it to be one of those historical novels that people thought up, most of them turning into tawdry romances. This started in a small village in Ireland, small enough not to be on many maps in a world forgotten. Things were done the old ways, and one of the ways was to learn the way of healing as an apprentice. As Tipper became more engrossed in the book, she began to be able to tell where the writer's work had been edited by the publishing house. She heard the bitch whine. Sighing, Tipper dog-eared the page and stuck it on top of her pack. She scrubbed her hands and knelt by the bitch who tried to rise up to lick her face. At least her night was going to be a bit busier than she expected.

Several hours later the bitch and 4 pups were nestled on new bedding. It would be another 2 before someone came in so she could go home. Wired now, Tipper picked up the book and began to read again. The story was taking a nasty turn as several people of the town were turning up dead, the only clue that the local constable could find was that their irises were wide open. Mid way Tipper learned the cause. She was so engrossed in the book between checking on the bitch and pups, that she lost track of the time until she heard the door chimes in the outer waiting room. She closed the book and put it with her things. It would be worth staying up just a bit longer to find out what had happened.

Morning had brought a heavy mist as Tipper walked back to her home. Something made her walk along the lower side of the town for a while then up a street that she had avoided for several years. She stopped outside the Nightshade store and looked at the building. Flashes of memories came back to her. Sitting with her tranq gun, waiting. Learning about the man who had been killed. Metzger's determination to get her prints, and how for a while that symbol that Taylor had pointed out to her kept cropping up every once in a while. From what Taylor had told her, once the company had their books looked into, with the proof, it ended. People who had been addicted to the stuff had gone through withdrawal, and after a while felt very foolish overall. The wind chimes and all trace of the cult that was built around the book disappeared. She stood looking at the building and then something caught her eye. Blinking a few times, Tipper gathered her wits about her and began walking very fast up the hill to where she knew someone who would understand and listen to her lived.

Taylor Andrews heard the door bell ring again. Sydney looked at her expectantly. The fact that Sydney wasn't barking informed her that it was someone that Sydney knew very well. Wrapping her robe about her thin shoulders Taylor went to the door and saw Tipper there. The wind blew Tippers hair into her face as she looked both scared, and exhausted.

"Can I come in?"

Taylor opened the door for her, and as Tipper closed the outside door, Taylor asked her, "Tea? You look half frozen."

Tipper nodded and crossed through the living room following Taylor into the kitchen. She set her bag on the floor, but pulled out the book and placed it on the table.

"I don't know who left this at the clinic, but I thought you may want to read it. I'm almost done with it, but I, well, looked at the ending, so…" She shrugged.

Taylor poured hot water into a mug and dropped a tea bag in it and handed it to Tipper. Both of the women sat down on the sofa at the same time. It took a moment for Taylor to look over the book. Tipper knew everything took time with Taylor now-a-days.

Taylor placed her right arm down on the book. Her heavy medic alert bracelet jangled softly upon striking the surface. "Oh," she said softly. "So, this started it all?"

Tipper nodded. "Must have missed the recall of them. It's a first edition."

Taylor looked over the book again. "Well. If you think about it, the Doctor who owned the practice that started the clinic left Cabot Cove about a month after that store was closed up. Rather in a hurry." She regarded Tipper. "But the book wouldn't be something that couldn't wait… I know you too well. What is it?"

She saw the young vet take a deep breath before Tipper said, "I walked past Nightshade, just to look at it, and the real estate lock box was off of the front door. With Jessica living across the street, and she knowing everything going on in the town, I was wondering if, well, you had heard anything."

It was true that Taylor saw more of Jessica than most people did. Several years before, when Taylor had arrived in Cabot Cove, Maine to take a much needed vacation, events beyond her control changed things forever. It had taken the rest of the time she had for her vacation to get things resolved, and the difficult step to walk away from all that she had known. Her health had been precarious but with the fresh Maine air, and the peace and quiet, Taylor had begun a new life in Cabot Cove, one spent in hours of sketching Jessica's roses, and painting the light houses in that section of Maine. Everything else seemed unimportant. Staying in Maine forced her decision with the man she loved. He was better to stay where he was - he was needed there, more than she needed him with her. They were still friends, but the miles had grown a distance between them that time couldn't heal.

"Only that Jessica's great nephew was arriving. I saw Mort's car late last night, with the lights on. He was picking him up at the Portland airport." Taylor saw Tipper yawn and relax on the sofa. She looked out the window at the sound of the rain which was beginning to come down pretty heavily. "Maybe Jessica does know something - but it's too early to wake her with it." The rumble of thunder made Taylor look at the window, and not hearing a response from Tipper, she turned to look at the young vet and saw she was sound asleep. Taylor grinned, and then carefully moved Tipper's legs so that she was in a semi-comfortable position before covering her with a blanket.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter twelve **

_"Only that Jessica's great nephew was arriving. I saw Mort's car late last night, with the lights on. He was picking him up at the Portland airport." Taylor saw Tipper yawn and relax on the sofa. She looked out the window at the sound of the rain which was beginning to come down pretty heavily. "Maybe Jessica does know something - but it's too early to wake her with it." The rumble of thunder made Taylor look at the window, and not hearing a response from Tipper, she turned to look at the young vet and saw she was sound asleep. Taylor grinned, and then carefully moved Tipper's legs so that she was in a semi-comfortable position before covering her with a blanket._

Jessica woke to the sound of running water in the bathroom next to where her bedroom was. There was the diligent scrubbing of teeth followed by a gurgling sound as Frank gargled in every key that he could before spitting the warm liquid from his mouth. She glanced at the clock across the room. 5:45 am. Perhaps it was the rain storm or the rumble of thunder that had awakened him. She heard the quiet squeak of her door. She knew he was peaking in to see if she was awake or not. She covered a yawn then beckoned him into the room. For a moment he just stood there, not moving before he opened up the door enough for him to come in. She saw his eyes dart to the window as lightning flashed and the booming thunder rolled across the cove. Jess rolled on her back and patted the other side of the bed. "Come on in," she said gently.

Frank stood still for a moment. She didn't smell any different than his mom did. The last thing that he remembered was hoping that Willie Mac had found where he was going, and then waking up in the bed and realizing he had to find where the bathroom was. Coming out of the bathroom he had found the door to his Aunt Jessica's room slightly ajar. Curious, he had opened it just to see if she was as scary as he remembered. It was the lightning that convinced him that she wasn't going to eat him just that day or anything. He climbed onto the bed and regarded her.

"I had made up my mind to run away from here, before I got here last night," he said to her finally. He studied her face and found it full of curiosity, and no anger.

"Oh? What changed your mind?" she asked gently.

"It was raining and I met a man on the plane that looked a lot like a leprechaun, even sounded like the ones you see in the movies, but his shoes weren't right. They were the same type that my dad owns, the lace-up kind. He was wearing cloths that – well, had to have been homemade, none of his buttons were quite the same, and his shirt looked like it was made from the same material that you would make a girl's shirt from. And I realized that if he could go about the world like that, and be as short as I am, he had to learn to deal with a lot worse things than not wanting to go to English class… and I still don't know why my mum giggled so when I asked how coming here was going to help with English. And how do you know Sheriff Medler?"

"Sheriff Metzger and I are friends. It's a small town; every one knows 'most everyone else. Most of them will recognize you the moment that they see you - they've seen most every photo that your parents have sent me."

"Why?" he asked, curious

"Why?" Jess repeated, not knowing quite what he was asking.

"Why would you show them around? You haven't seen me since I was little, and you're not even related to me by blood. I'm no one to you."

"Blood isn't the only thing that makes a family, Frank. And of all my nieces and nephews, and great nieces and nephews and cousins, you are the most dear to me. Your uncle and I couldn't have children, and your father became our responsibility when he was quite young. In a way, it's as if you're my grandson, and I know your uncle would be very proud to know you carry his name."

Jess saw Frank sigh.

"I suppose we're going to jump right into the lessons…" It was as if his entire body deflated. Something else was bothering him, something that caused him not to like the subject and she knew that before she could get him to remember anything first and foremost she had to find out what was wrong with the English classes in the first place - though she had a pretty fair idea.

"Oh, I don't know. Breakfast first seems like a better idea. What time is it anyway?" she asked covering her yawn with her hand. Jess knew what time it was actually. While the sun rose very early along the Maine coastline she could guess the time by how bright it was outside even with the storm going on. She watched as he turned his head searching for the clock and how he leaned forward squinting slightly to see the time. It told her much of what she needed to know.

"Um… almost six."

The rumble of thunder woke Willie Mac. He sat up where he had made his bed the night before and looked around. He had lost count of the times he had less than a rug to sleep on and at least, from what he could tell, the roof wasn't leaking above him. Stretching his arms up he took a deep breath. The house would need a proper airing, and a lot of cleaning. He had been informed that one of the people who had worked at the shop had died, and how they had died in graphic detail by the real estate agent Eve Simpson. Not that he minded working with women, but he had the distinct impression that she would be sadly disappointed in his height when he arrived at her office to give her back the lock box later that day.

Standing, he walked over to the shuttered window and looked outside. He saw people moving about on the street, used to the rains as they walked with large umbrellas and made their way down to the docks. The thrum of the lobster boat engines had long since faded, and it was now the shop owners who were coming to work. Eve had said that Cabot Cove's day began at 4 in the morning and ended at 8 at night. By his watch it was past 6 and his belly reminded him he hadn't had anything to eat since the airplane ride to Portland. He went to his bag and pulled out a change of cloths and took a walk down the hall. To his delight the water was now on, as well as the electricity and a quick hot shower was enough to wash away the sleepiness from his body and prepare him for the day.

The rain had let up a bit as he pocketed the key to the front door, and with the key box in hand he started down the street whistling a nameless tune. There would be time enough for breakfast - he wanted to settle some matters first. Customs had regarded what he carried in his case with curiosity, and the documents in his pocket weighed heavy on his mind. He had a lot invested in this day. His journey had taken four years to come here to this place. He sighed as he came to Eve's real estate office. She wasn't there, but she had a box for returned key boxes. With a satisfied nod he placed it in the box and then walked down the street to where he saw the sheriff's office. The rain began to fall again and he was pleased to discover the door to the sheriff's office was open. He saw a young deputy look up from his desk and give a nod. Willie noted the name on the pin said 'Broom.' He returned the nod and said politely,

"Good morning, I was wondering if Sheriff Metzger was in? I understand he had a late night last night, but I was hoping I could have a matter resolved in short time. My name's Thaladirith Razanur and I've come to recover something that was stolen from me a few years back that turned up here in Cabot Cove… I've papers of proof of ownership, and a letter from Scotland Yard as well." Willie Mac lifted the scabbard from where he had been protecting it under his coat and placed it on the desk. "I believe you have the sword that fits within this in what you call an 'evidence lock up'?"

Andy Broom almost fell out of his chair at the sight of the scabbard. He found himself nodding. The sword was still wrapped in oil cloth in the lock up, the trial long over, as no one from Sutton House had come forward to claim it. Mort, knowing it was valuable, had kept it safe, wrapping it himself to protect the blade and taking time to carefully clean off the blood that was on the blade so that it wouldn't pit. "Let me call the Sheriff," he said, swallowing. He stood then turned to look at Willie Mac "Would you care for some coffee or tea while you wait? He may just be getting up and it may be a while before he arrives."

"Tea would be lovely, thank you." While Andy called Mort, he poured a cup of hot tea for Willie and handed it to him. Willie waved away the offer of a doughnut. He had seen some odd things that Americans had eaten for breakfast, and had tried a fair few, but doughnuts were just not right at all. The taste reminded him of the English Yorkshire Puddings, and that left a bitter taste in his mouth. He took a sip of the steaming liquid and settled back in his chair.

It was a good 15 minutes later that Mort strode in and shook the rain off of his overcoat as he hung it up on the coat hook. "Morning Andy… Hullo. Mr…" he said turning to see Willie and extended his hand.

Willie stood and took Mort's hand in a firm grip that surprised Mort with its strength. "Thaladirith Razanur, I've come to reclaim the item that was taken from me, and to my sadness, learned that it was used to kill someone."

"You have papers to prove ownership, Mr. Razanur?"

Willie's eyebrows rose. Of all the Americans that he had worked with over the last few years, Mort was the first one to pronounce his name correctly after hearing it just once.

"Oh aye," he said, pulling out the envelope of papers including his passport.

Mort regarded the description of the sword and frowned. "The one we have in the lock up is a bit longer, and yours doesn't have the things on it…"

Willie nodded and flipped to the next page where there was another picture, one that was taken by Sutton House for the book cover. Next to it was a photo of Kent Fordham. Mort straightened up.

"Him I know, and yes, this is the one we have in the lock up. My question is, how are you involved in the Nightshade case?" Mort saw Willie's gaze didn't waver.

"I wrote the book _Belladonna,_ which Sutton House published and took the rights over as Nightshade. After that, well, things went a bit bad. I've been using the last few years trying to make things right, and to search for the sword that's been in my family for the last 3000 years. I found the scabbard in the place you call your City of Angels last month, and a man there told me that the sword was most likely here. Kent Fordham came to my village to get pictures for the book, saw the sword, and asked my Gram if he could take photos of it for the book. She said yes, and the kettle that she had put on for tea whistled, and she went to make some. When she returned he was gone - she thought to just get his camera. It was a bit later that we learned the sword had been removed from our home. When it showed up on the cover, and his name appeared as the photographer, well, it took several trips to Scotland Yard to convince them that it was the same sword, and to do something about it. The chief inspector Mr. Sutherland was quite nice about calming Gram, telling her that we would get it back. He gave me his business card if anyone had questions about it."

"But they look like two different swords…" said Andy.

Willie nodded, and then laid the photos side by side. "Aye, but if you look here, on the blade, you can see something that shows up even with their best attempts to hide the sword. The rune beneath their wax came up in an indentation."

Mort picked up both photos and studied them. "Well I'll be," he said. Putting down the photos he looked over the rim of them. "Andy, go get Mr. Razanur his sword."

Andy came back in a moment and held the oil wrapped cloth. Mort watched Willie's face as it was gently unwrapped and laid on the desk. He saw tears in the man's eyes and realized how much it meant to him. Willie took a breath then pulled out a small pair of fingernail clippers and clipped one of the wires that wrapped the handle of the blade. Andy and Mort watched as Willie unwrapped the wire from the handle and freed the large red stone that was on the handle as well as the intricate scroll work of the triangle and infinity symbol. With distaste he crushed the wire in his hands, twisting the triangle, snapping it. The stone he set aside. Mort saw him take the file of the nail clippers and wedge it between the handle and the blade. There was a soft click as a section of the blade fell away. Andy gasped thinking the blade had broken. Mort had to blink a few times before he realized what they had done to conceal the blade. They had used bees wax, and parchment, then silver leaf over the top portion of the blade to hide the runes beneath. The handle of the sword, while elegant, was now smaller. With a twist of the file again, the other side of the blade was free. Mort saw relief on Willie's face, and tears that streamed down his cheeks as he lovingly picked up the sword and held it to his chest.

"Hello, old friend," he said softly to the blade, kissing the handle.

Mort went to his file cabinet and pulled out a bottle of oil that he placed on the desk along with a cloth. At least they had the sense to oil it before applying the bees wax. An inspection of the blade against the original photograph showed that it was the missing sword. Once it was clean he slid it into the scabbard. Andy looked at the wire bits and asked curiously.

"So, the whole cult thing - that was made from the book…"

Mort saw a pained expression on Willie's face. "I wrote the book awhile back after we had a rash of deaths due to one of the healers misusing belladonna on some of the young people to give them what you call hallucinogenic trips to control them. It's more dangerous, more, sensory than that drug LSD, and not illegal in the least in any land. Gram found out what he was doing, and he nearly killed her with what he had laced her tea with. I came back from graduating from the university and saw that most of those whom I knew were dead and gone and Gram ill - I knew something was badly amiss.

"When it was done and over, I wanted to find a way of warning the young ones na to do it. It's a deadly game that he was playing, one that you don't win at. I sold the manuscript to the publishers, and I didna know what editorial prerogatives was, and I was informed I didna have that right to stop what they were changing in the book, and when they began opening up the shops, they explained that people wanted to learn about the old ways, and it sounded like a good idea from where they were. We didna know what they were doing, or how they were doing it. They didna include any money for the shops in the royalty checks for the book, and in a way, I am relieved about that because it was easier to settle things in court afterwards. Since the trial I've been going from store to store closing them up and sending the stuff back to Sutton House, and then ending the contracts for the buildings that they were using. The one here is the last one that they opened, and the last that I need to deal with." Willie gathered the papers and his passport and placed them back into his pocket, leaving a manila envelope on the desk.

"And then it's home to Ireland?" asked Andy where he was looking at the mess of gem stones on Mort's desk from the corner of the room.

"Nae, while my Gram will be happy that I've found the sword, when all of this happened, I became a most un popular fellow. The book brought many curious people into our village, none of them really knowing what they wanted, and it made the village very sad. We like a peaceful life. Motor cars just upset the chickens so much they don't lay any more, and a hen that does not lay ends up in the stew pot. I purchased the building that was the Nightshade shop, and I may make my home there, for a while."

"You know, a man died there."

Willie nodded to Andy. "Aye," he said sadly. "I know." He took a breath. "And some how I will make amends for those whom have been hurt by this unwillingly."

Willie began to walk to the door. Andy called after him, "Wait, what about the gemstones?"

Willie stopped. "They are not mine, but if you contact the name on the envelope on the desk he will tell you who they belonged to and help you return them. They were not quite stolen, but are not part of my quest."

Mort stood up as the rain thundered against the roof. "I have to pick Adele up at Loretta's. Would you care for a ride home?" He saw Willie take a breath, then nod. "Thank ye, Sheriff. That's most kind." He nodded to Andy, who he saw scooping all of the gem stones into the envelope and sealing it then placing it in the safe and closing the door. Their eyes met across the room. Willie gave another nod, then walked out with Mort.

In the quiet of the police car Willie saw the worry lines on Mort's face. "The people here aren't going to be too happy to see me, are they?"

Mort took a slow breath in then let it out. "A lot of lives were changed by it. You know that though. You know the damage they did to the community. I know, though, how things become promoted. How promises are made, and money is taken from those who don't know any better. I learned, though, who I could trust that week, and who my friends were. I was glad that they were the same people that I always knew. A few people in this town were deeply hurt by the methods that were employed by that company. Decent folk that didn't have anything to do with what was going on. You're worried that some will think its your fault, but its not. Unless you were the person who was directing everything going on. If you were, you wouldn't have left those gemstones behind. What I can't understand is why that sword is so important to you that you would spend years tracking it down."

"It's my heritage. It's who I am. It proves who I am."

"The owner of an old sword?"

Willie shook his head. With a careful hand he unscrewed the top of the handle of the sword and slid his small finger inside. Papers slipped out in a tight roll. Some of them were small enough to uncurl from the roll and were caught in Willie Mac's hands before they fell off of his lap. He looked at Mort. "My birth records, and that of my parents. I didna know where my family had hid them until after the sword went missing, and my Gram told me that she and my mother had placed them in the handle of the sword to prove that I was the rightful heir of it. Do you know your parents Sheriff Metzger?" Mort nodded "I do not. My da died before I was born and my mother came to the village looking for him. My Gram took her in during her confinement, and then my mother left me in her care. I have na seen her face, nor known her voice all my life, an only part of her name. There were reasons why she left me that you may never understand… some that I don't ether. Do you know what a Mc is? Or as ye say it some times, a Mac? It's what some are called if they have a certain faith, the type that they have been fighting over for far too long. My Mother was a Mac, and my da didn't care. Nor did my Gram. She'd seen too many die for want of a potato to live off of."

Taking a breath Willie slid the papers back in and screwed the handle knob back into place.

"Aren't you going to look?"

Willie shook his head. "Na now, maybe later after I have a chance to speak with my Gram about things. She needs to know the sword's been recovered so she can rest at last. Thank you for the ride, Sheriff," he said as they came up to the curb.

Stepping inside the building he left the door ajar to allow fresh air in. He strode up the steps and placed the sword in his suitcase, and closed it. Looking around he saw the folded boxes in the large crate and the rolls of packing tape. He opened his carry-on bag and slid out an envelope that contained labels. Tossing some of the boxes over the rail he went down the steps and went to work.

Frank Jr. sat at the door between the dining room and the kitchen looking at Jessica as she prepared breakfast. She hadn't mentioned anything dealing with English. He wasn't sure how he was going to learn last year's work, and then next year's at the same time. It wasn't like summer school at all. The phone called her away and in that time he got up from the chair and wandered about the house. There was a locked room and when he looked through the key hole he saw books everywhere on shelves. She had a desktop computer in the corner. He regarded the lock. How hard could doing what he had seen on tv be? He realized though that he would have to relock the door and that might prove harder than getting it unlocked. He heard her calling him for breakfast and with a sigh, he went to the kitchen. He didn't realize how hungry he was until he slid into his seat but he waited until Jessica sat and nodded before he began to eat.

There was a knock on the kitchen door before it opened. Frank looked up and saw a kindly gray haired man enter and give Jessica a kiss on the cheek before he sat down.

"Hello, Frank." Seth said gently before his hand snuck over to Jessica's plate for a piece of her cinnamon toast. Jessica held on to her cup.

"You're on your on for your cup of tea, Seth," she said smiling.

Frank was still blinking very fast. A man had come into his aunt's kitchen and kissed her with out so much as a by-your-leave. His brows furrowed. The name Seth… was familiar to him. He looked at his aunt, and then back over to the man. "You're Dr. Hazlitt - Dad talks about you a lot."

"Well I expect he does…How was your flight in?" The next half hour was spent in animated conversation as Frank recounted every bump of the turbulence and meeting Willie Mac. Jessica sat watching him, watching every move that he made, and her heart was filled with joy. Seth could see it on her face. He knew not having children was something that had greatly pained Jessica after Frank had died. He knew she wouldn't smother him or spoil him, and it would be her greatest triumph if she could teach him what he needed to know about English in the whole summer. She didn't have too many summers left. Too many had gone by with just Grady visiting, and the light of her eyes missing what she wanted to share - memories of the grandparents he never knew.

They were playing catch with a balled-up napkin. No matter where Seth tossed it, Frank seemed to just miss it. While it seemed a game to Frank, whose giggles were infectious, Jess could see exactly where Seth was going with what he was doing. When she had Frank help carry the dishes to the sink he gave Jess a quick nod.

"Bring him around tomorrow at 10 and I will run a base line on him for his eyesight. He's about the age that it develops and it may explain certain things."

Jessica nodded and turned her head to see Frank washing the dishes before putting them on the side board. When she turned back, Seth had stepped up to her and had leaned forward close enough to make his lips meet hers in an unexpected kiss. It was gentle and sweet and when their lips parted he saw it had brought color to her cheeks. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. "That shade of pink looks good on you" he said softly.

The telephone rang, interrupting what he was going to say next. They heard Frank say "I'll get it," and then they heard, "Hello? Hi Dad!… It was okay, kinda bumpy… Aunt Jessica is just kissing Dr Hazlet in the hall… he had breakfast with us… Oh... here is aunt Jessica … I love you dad…"

Frank handed the phone to Jessica and then waved to Seth as he went out the back door. If they weren't doing English today, maybe he could convince her to go to the library with him so he could use the computers there and check his email and the message boards. He saw that it had stopped raining. The sun was peeking out and as he stood at the back door he saw a woman in the house next door to where they were sitting in her back room drawing something. She looked up at him and waved, then returned to her drawing. Frank sighed. There wasn't any way he was going to get away with anything in that town. He withdrew from where he stood and went back to the dishes in the sink.

He had just dried the last one when Jessica came into the kitchen again, the blush still on her cheeks. She was smiling though, so Frank knew he had managed to get away with something on the grounds of cuteness. He wasn't going to push his luck.

"So, what would you like to do today?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I never really had a vacation before. I always ended up in summer school about now," he said glumly. Looking at her he said, "So, when do we start my English lessons?"

Jessica pulled up a chair and sat down facing him. "Frank, I've informed your parents of what I think may help you, and Seth agrees as well… We think some of your problem may be that your eyes aren't seeing what is on the black board, and your father's confirmed that you sit in the back of the class because you're seated alphabetical. You're not hearing what the teacher says, am I correct?"

Frank gave a shrug. "Well, I did tell them that. They think I wasn't paying attention."

Jessica raised an eyebrow. "Were you?" she asked gently.

Another shrug from Frank. "At first I did. I really tried to. But it sounded like something from a cartoon of someone speaking. And she would always pick on me, and the kids would laugh because I didn't know what she was talking about. It was easier not to go after a while. They didn't listen to me, so I stopped listening to them."

"Well, we have a lot to cover then. Not today though. Tomorrow after we see Dr. Hazlet we can start the lessons. I think you will like them, once you get the basics down. How do you feel about exploring the town as far as our legs can carry us?" she said reaching for her cane.

"Are you going to show me off to everyone?"

Jessica laughed. "I might."

He gave a sigh. "Ok… Can we stop at the library? Dad says that I have to use their computer under supervision."

Jessica saw he was holding his breath waiting for an answer. "We'll see if the rain holds out that long," she said with a smile.

Frank let the air out with a rush. "Ok, lemme get my shoes!" he said, racing up the steps in his stocking feet.

Jessica and Frank walked slowly to the library only to discover that it was closed due to a power failure. She could see the disappointment in his eyes. He scuffed his toe in the dirt as his body deflated. Jessica led him over to a bench for her to sit down. He sat beside her with his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands.

"Do you want to talk about what is so important about going into the library today to use the computers?"

He looked at her - she wasn't anything like he had expected in a great aunt, and so far she had been pretty decent about everything he had done, including keeping her cool when he told his dad about them kissing.

"I have a friend, Dot, who showed me this web site that has a message board on it. And, well, it's real life things that we investigate… There are other web sites that have almost the same thing, but that's all made up, half of the people on there don't know it's a game and the other half don't care. This board though, it's not a game. A few months back a girl was coming home on her bike in the early morning, and they found her dead. We've narrowed the suspects down to the guy who saw her last at the store, her fiancé, or a friend of theirs, because only the three of them knew where she was going. One of the people on the board actually made contact with a couple of the people involved, and I told them that that was pretty stupid to do because, well, one of them could be the murderer. I got told off for that, and it was yesterday and I told them I had to think about what I was going to do next. Mum says I shouldn't expect to use your computer because I would probably be on it all the time. Aunt Jessica? How come people can trust some one and not see if they are bad inside or not? Or let themselves be killed? She had to have known the person. She wouldn't have stopped her bike if she didn't, right? They are all kids, not even 20, how could they do something like that?"

"How deeply are you involved in this Frank?" she asked gently.

Frank sat up and shrugged. "I just want her family to know what happened to their daughter. They have a reward, and I told the others that if we solved it that I would want my part of it to go to make something that her family could remember her by forever. I suppose you think that's a stupid way to spend my time."

Jessica shook her head. "Frank, wanting to help people isn't stupid. But what you're trying to do could be very dangerous, and at least you have the sense to see it. You're 11. When your father was your age he was spending time hiking and fishing with us, and he loved to read. They didn't have the internet back then, and I admit that going forward into the computer age can be a bit frightening for some, but you have such little time to

be young."

She saw him sigh. His whole face became dejected.

"Tell you what - tomorrow, after we see Dr Hazlet, we will come back here and I will go over what the evidence is, and if it's a waste of time, I will let you know," she said, trying to boost his spirits. "My computer modem isn't working right and I am waiting on the part. Until it comes, we'll just have to use the library one." She saw he was regarding her quite puzzled.

"You're just an English teacher. What would you know about solving crimes? Or is it because you're old ... um older than me that you know this?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

_She saw him sigh. His whole face became dejected._

_"Tell you what - tomorrow, after we see Dr Hazlitt, we will come back here and I will go over what the evidence is, and if it's a waste of time, I will let you know," she said, trying to boost his spirits. "My computer modem isn't working right and I am waiting on the part. Until it comes, we'll just have to use the library one." She saw he was regarding her quite puzzled._

_"You're just an English teacher. What would you know about solving crimes? Or is it because you're old ... um older than me that you know this?"_

Tipper woke and rubbed her neck. For a second she looked around, focusing on the room, and saw that Taylor was sitting across the room with her sketch pad on her knee. Her fingers held several pencils at once. Craning her neck Tipper saw that she was the subject of the day's art. It had stopped raining and the sun was beginning to dry things up.

"How long did I sleep?" she asked, yawning.

Taylor looked up. "About 2 hours. Would you like some breakfast?"

Tipper shook her head as she folded the blanket up and put it on the back of the sofa. "I have to see Dr Hazlitt at 11, and then I have to call in to see if they need me tonight to puppy sit…Thank you though."

It was past two in the afternoon that Taylor finished the drawing and flipped the pad over to the next page. She had drawn her day's quota. She wasn't hungry for lunch yet, even though it was past the hour for it and it was warming up outside at last. She sighed. It was one of the problems living alone. You could spend the day in bed, or running around in your bunny slippers and it wouldn't make any difference at all. She heard a snuff as Sydney came over to her with her leash in her mouth. Sydney had her own area that she could go out to do her thing when she wanted, and it wasn't often that she wanted to go on a walk.

"And where do you want to go today?" Taylor asked Sydney. Sydney gave a soft "Wuff." Clipping on the leash Taylor picked up her key for the house and walked next door to Jessica's house and put the key under a flower pot in the garden. It was her habit. She knew if she carried it, she would lose it, as she had in the past, but she never lost it when it was under the flower pot. Some people didn't lock their doors at all. Taylor did- for reasons she couldn't explain. Sydney gave a wuff, then lead Taylor down the hill. She had a grand time barking at the birds and giving the squirrels what for. She didn't stop until she had lead Taylor down to Oak Street and to the front of the Nightshade shop.

The door was standing open. Almost in a trance she felt herself being drawn up the steps and into the shop. She stood in numb silence looking at the place where the sword had hung, but it wasn't there. The incense brazier was gone too. There were boxes everywhere and some of them were sealed with shipping tape with labels on them. She closed her eyes as images flashed in her memory. She fell to her knees, the tears coming down her cheeks freely.

She felt a gentle touch on her cheek, and opened her eyes. She didn't remember lying down, couldn't remember where she was or why. She saw a man's face regarding her with concern. Sydney was licking the tears from her face. The man was holding her hand, looking at her finger nails and then a cool cloth moved over her face. Her feet were up on a small packing box and her blouse was opened a few buttons.

"Easy, lass. Don't try to move just yet. Give your heart a chance to catch up with the rest of ye."

"Where am I?" she asked in a bare whisper.

"In my home. Ye came in through the front door and went down like a sack of potatoes. Yer sweetie set up such a howl beside you I thought the banshees were comin' for sure. May I ask what you're doing here?"

Taylor gave a shrug. "I don't remember where – here - is."

Willie's hand moved behind her head and felt for bumps. His fingers moved over her cheeks and touched the lower part of her eyes opening them to peer within, before moving to lie on her chest "Well, your heart has stopped racing like a cart horse after an apple… Do you have these spells often?"

"Not that I would admit," she said in a matter-of-fact voice that was tinged with sadness. "Where am I? And who are you?" she asked again, looking around and seeing the packing boxes.

"At my home. My friends call me Willie Mac."

She moved her feet down from the box and managed to sit up with her eyes closed. She found him steadying her and she blinked as the dizzy spell washes over her, bracing her with his body.

"Easy now, lass."

"This used to be a store… I fell, here, along time ago, just here… my life was changed that day. You weren't there though. They all went away for a long time and sometimes the dreams they made me have come back and I see the blood all over again."

"I'm sorry lass, for what they did to you. Truly I am. If I had known all of this was going to happen… I would 'ave nae written a word down."

She looked at him – looked into his eyes. She had seen those eyes before, with the sword in the middle. "I'm in that shop, aren't I?" he gave a nod and then pulled up a box for her to lean against,

"Well, you've gone from grey to ashen, so that's a good measure. Do you know who you are?" He asked placing his hand on her chest again.

She blinked a few times. "You're a bit free with where you're placing that." He felt her heart skip a beat and saw a faint blush coming to her cheeks.

"Your having what your doctor would call a PVC, a premature ventricular contraction – one chamber of your heart is beating before the other one, and your heart stops to catch up with it. The danger of that is ventricular tachycardia and ventricular fibrillations where ..."

Taylor placed her hand over his as it rested on her chest. "I know," she said quietly.

"The spells pass quickly though, and then I am no worse for wear, just feeling older"

He looked at her a moment, not moving his hand "Do you know who you are?"

She looked at her wrist where the medical bracelet jangled. "My name is Taylor Andrews. It says so here so that I remember when I can't remember."

She leaned forward with the intention of getting up. He moved his hands to her shoulders and with gentle pressure downward with them, kept her from rising. "I don't believe that is the wisest of actions to take at this time, Lass. You need more time to let your heart settle."

"I can't just sit here. The end is going to be the same. It's just a matter of when."

Willie picked her hands up in his and kissed the back of them "If it's all the same to you, Lass, I would be hoping it's much later than sooner. For I have na seen a flower as fair as you in all my years come into my life and bring such beauty and grace."

His words left her speechless for a moment as she blushed, suddenly very shy of the handsome young man who was sitting beside her. "Thank you"

"If you're wanting something to do while your color returns, you can fasten the labels on to the boxes for me - most of them are low and it isn't hard at all. I only have a few hundred to be shipped back day after tomorrow… if ye would be inclined?" Taylor nodded as he handed her the label packet.

He found and washed out two mugs and a plate and during a brief break he made tea for her, as well as opening up some crackers for them to eat as they worked. Willie made sure he kept an eye on Taylor. Her color was returning, but she looked exhausted from her spell. The more labels that she put on the boxes, the better she looked until after several hours she asked, suddenly curious, "Where do you sleep?"

"Ach, well, until a proper bed comes, I have a rug that I used last night for my bed. I've slept in worse places so do not worry about me," he said, coming over to her to check her pulse.

She placed her hand over his as his. "I understand if your have other plans, but you probably have had much of the same, which was very sparse to eat, and I see no reason why you couldn't come back and have dinner with me, and stay in my guest room until such time that you've a proper bed here, or where you wish,"

"Stay with ye? And what would the neighbors say?"

"About bloody time." It took him a moment to understand what she was saying and it was his turn to blush, and to look shyly at her.

"I thank ye but…"

She covered his mouth with her finger tips. "Please? You could keep an eye on me tonight and I could give the ladies at Loretta's beauty shop something to wag their tongues about for the second time since I came here, and know they were wrong on both accounts."

Anthony Thomas frowned as he heard the answering machine click on again at Taylor's house. He had tried several times that day since he saw the AP headlines in the morning paper, and the photos that were included in it. He needed to speak with her, to explain everything. He knew she shouldn't have to find out from some other person. It should come from him. Anthony knew she wouldn't return his calls. She hadn't for at least the last two years. She had informed him that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't bring herself to do it. He didn't know if she had seen the paper already, or if she was avoiding him - he sighed and then, becoming concerned that he hadn't been able to get a hold of her, dialed Jessica Fletcher's number. He realized Jess didn't have an answering machine turned on. He saw the message light flashing on his phone. He had turned off the ringer after the 30th call that morning regarding yesterday's events.

Maybe he had bad Karma when it came to women, or how the press viewed them. Yesterday started as a perfect day. At 9 am he received word from the presiding judge that the plaintiff had changed his plea to guilty, and that he had accepted the punishment that had been set forward by his office. He had gone to lunch with a lady friend whom he had been seeing at the same social events, one who had come over to him at a very stuffy testimonial dinner, and in the back of the room they made soft small talk. At the very most he would hold her hand when crossing the street. Then yesterday, after lunch when they went back up to the court house, Alice Stewart had turned and stepped into his arms and given him a kiss that made his socks roll up and down his legs. He found himself stepping into the kiss and holding her as their worlds melted together. When they parted she blurted breathlessly "I have been wanting to do that for the longest time just here and now… and the sex with you isn't too shabby ether," she said kissing him again pressing her body next to his.

To his knowledge, they had never had sex. Not even in his wildest dreams. It didn't stop the papers or the reporters who happened to be just there, with their cameras ready to snap the photo of them kissing. What stung was that when they kissed, when she kissed him, it was if his heart and soul had merged with hers. Now, it just left an empty, hollow feeling inside, rather sickly as he knew how Taylor would take seeing the kiss, or reading the comments that were made by the paper. The mayor's office had been furious. He knew he had been set up in the worst way. Not only did it hurt his reputation as an honest district attorney, but deeper, it hurt those who cared about him, and those he loved. He looked at the paper again before crumpling it into the trash basket. There was a double knock on his door before it opened without him telling the person they could come in.

Standing in the door with a folded newspaper in his hand was Donald Brook, his face masked with concern. Anthony sighed and waved him in. His chair creaked as he sat back. Donald closed the door as he entered the room and stood at Anthony's desk waiting. "You've never been one to kiss and tell before."

"Well, there is always a first time," said Anthony with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. "The hell of it is, the readers and the mayor won't believe anything else of it except the worst and if I deny it, what type of a cad does that make me when she turns up pregnant and names me as the father? Everyone would believe that the courts hid the truth about the results, and it just becomes worse after that. I tried to call Taylor, to explain what happened. It's made for tabloid scandal, and I don't want her to be hurt more from it… She must be off walking, or something. Even if I left right now to explain, it would take too many hours to get there. I'm worried that news like this" - (he closed his eyes) "… and it would be my fault."

"I can give you some information that may not make things easier to accept, but it does offer an explanation to it. I had one of my men go to the newspaper who ran that photograph, and asked to have a part of it enlarged. I think you should see this before you feel too bad about what happened…" Donald laid the paper down along side the photograph. "I also think it would be prudent for you to stay in someone's company until this can be resolved properly."

Jessica and Frank started home from their walk. They had seen a large part of the town from the deck of one of the bed and breakfasts, and she could tell that the fresh air was quite telling on Frank as he was yawning a few times too often. Gently she guided him home and after he scrubbed up they had a light dinner before she tucked him into bed. She passed by her husband's photo and stopped for a moment. "He looks so much like Grady at that age, Frank," she said softly, touching the face on the photo with her fingertips. "Goodnight, luv," she said before going up to her own bed room. She paused and glanced out the window towards Taylor's house. Both bedroom lights were on and Sydney was walking around the back yard sniffing out things. Jess was about to turn in when she saw a shadow cross the window shade. One was shorter than she knew Taylor to be. The one light went off, and another shadow joined the first, stepping closer. Jess stepped away from the window. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. It just never occurred to her that Taylor would have any gentleman company stay at her house. Anytime that Anthony came, he always stayed at the Hill House. Jess frowned. She didn't remember a car parked outside of Taylor's property.

Sleep came quickly to Jessica. She knew that tomorrow was going to be a busy day and she wanted to be at her best for it. Her thoughts tumbled into unexpected dreams of her last visit with her cousin Emma on her 70th birthday. She had found Emma in the garden looking very sad.

"Emma? What is it?" Emma turned and brushed away a tear. "Nothing," she had said, biting her bottom lip. Jess waited. Emma could never hold back from anything. "I only have one regret Jessie - I was selfish in my youth… I wanted to be on the stage, and I gave up so much to do that. More than anyone would ever know, and it hurt people dearly for me to do that. I can't make up those years, and I wouldn't know where to start now. It's too late, was too late many years ago and I always wondered if things were different … if I hadn't followed the call of the theater … what my life would have been like. If I would end up with 20 children and a husband who smoked his pipe by the fireplace and drank ale. I'm a horrible mum to the lot I look after let alone any of my own… Can't even keep my lover from being poisoned with pickled herring. It's my fault that I am alone now. Should have said no when I said yes, and yes when I said no. No one now left to carry on the MacGill name."

Jessica rolled over and looked at her clock. It read 4:45 am. The sun had been up for a half an hour more than she had been. She tossed back the covers and walked to Frank's bedroom. He was still fast asleep. Jess took her things into the bathroom, and after a quick shower dressed and went down to get the morning paper. She looked and confirmed that there wasn't any car. Looking over into the windows she saw that Taylor was up moving about her kitchen in her robe. Jessica opened the paper and looked at the headlines. Taking a step backwards she closed her door and hurried over to Taylor's house in her bare feet. She knocked once, then opened the door and entered into Taylor's house. Taylor looked up at her and saw the expression on her face.

"Good morning, Jessica... what is it? What's wrong?"

"Taylor, get your clothes, and your friend, and his things, we have to get you out of here and get your place locked up as well." Jess began moving about the house pulling down the blinds. "Hurry, before they come!"

Taylor moved from where she stood and gathered her things and went up the steps. Jessica heard Taylor say something muffled, and in a moment she came down with her clothes tucked under her arm and Sydney on a leash. Behind her was Willie Mac, who was just fresh from the shower. He had his pants on, but stood bare-chested looking concerned. They were out the back door and into Jessica's house and into her front bedroom looking through the blinds when the local news van pulled up in front of Taylor's home. A slim perky blond reporter in a snappy power red blazer strode across the front yard and rapped sharply on the door. When there was no answer at the door she pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number and waited.

Taylor sat down and looked at Jessica. "What is going on?"

Jessica sighed and went to her. She pulled up a chair and took Taylor's hand in hers. "Anthony's involved in a bit of a mess right now, and the press here ran your photo next to his on the front page. I dare say they want your reaction to all of it - once it gets out, well, your phone is probably ringing off of the hook right now." Carefully Jessica unfolded the paper and laid it on Taylor's lap. Willie watched her face become sad for a moment, and then a bit of a blush crept to her cheeks as she looked up at him. Jess saw Willie cross the room from the window and take her hand.

The commotion outside woke Frank. He yawned and wrapped his robe around him and, curious, went down the steps. He paused in front of the clock and peered at the hands before going to the front window and looking out. Seeing movement at the window the camera man moved over to film while the reporter began rapping on the window for him to open it. Frank slammed the blinds down in their stunned faces, went to the phone, picked it up and began to dial.

When the 911 operator answered Frank made his voice quiver with fear as he told her that there were strange people outside his aunt's place where he was staying and they were trying to get into the house and he was afraid. His aunt was elderly and he knew she wasn't up just yet and he was very scared. The operator could hear the insistent pounding on the door and the breaking of window glass of the back porch outside door. and Frank began to cry. It took all of 4 minutes for Mort and several state trouper cars to pull up to the area with a lock-up van. The press paused as Andy and Floyd and the state troopers began to slap handcuffs on the wrists of the people who were standing on Mrs. Fletcher's property, and began to work their way down the street and arrest reporters who were on other people's property as well. Mort pulled out a bull horn and got their attention to speak to the people standing in the street.

"You have one minute to disperse or the rest of you will be arrested as well."

"The public has the right to know!" shouted one of the reporters over the din.

"As well as be protected. Our dispatch has received numerous calls from terrified people who live on this street that people were trying to break into their homes when they didn't answer the door. It's five am. No one has to be dragged out of bed to answer any of your questions at this hour. Go home before I arrest the rest of you for disturbing the peace. If they have anything to say to you, they will let you know but don't hold your breath."

He gave the bull horn to Floyd then crossed over the yard to Mrs. Fletcher's house and knocked quietly. The press watched as the door opened and Frank came out and threw himself into Mort's arms sobbing in fear. Mort picked him up and turning he faced the crowd with a dark look and then went into the house and closed the door behind him.

Mort growled into Frank's ear. "You little scamp," he said as he locked the door. He heard Frank sniff as he tried to pry his arms off of around his neck. He set him down and saw the tears were real. Mort knelt down and brushed away the tears from Frank's cheeks. "You've never seen how a press mob looks have you?"

Frank shook his head. "I'm only 11. And there was a guy who broke the window on the back porch door and got as far as the kitchen door but I made sure that was locked. He ran away when you pulled up."

"Where is Jessica?" Frank shook his head. Mort took a breath, stood then took the steps two at a time. He hurried down to her room, and finding it empty, knowing which one was Frank's room Mort opened the door on the only room left upstairs. He first saw Willie Mac standing still beside the formal wide back upholstered chair by the window, holding someone's hand. At first he thought it was Jessica's, but she was sitting in another chair with the news paper on her lap looking very concerned. Mort strode over and saw Taylor looking very pale, her eyes were closed but better looking in shade than several times that he had seen her before. A glance as he crossed the room at the paper on Jessica's lap told him everything he needed to know.

Frank brushed passed Mort and went to Jessica. "Some man broke the outside porch window to the door and got as far as the back door," he said going to her side, "and I called the emergency operator just like they told us to do in school."

Mort looked at Willie, whose hand rested upon Taylor's cheek. He picked up her other hand and felt that it was ice cold. She opened her eyes and regarded him

"He's trying to get me to have a bit more color in my cheeks," she said softly to Mort. "I guess I had a bit of a surprise this morning."

Frank's voice piped from beside Jessica. "Willie Mac could kiss you. That brought color into Aunt Jessica's cheeks when Dr. Hazlitt kissed her yester…day"

Mort turned and looked at Jessica who didn't budge in her expression.

"The ways between men and women don't work as all that simple, Frank. I've only known this lass for a day, and while her heart is filled with kindness, it may take a wee bit longer to fill it with love for a man such as I am."

"Willie Mac? But, your papers say Thaladirith Razanur. "

"Oh Aye, they do. And I am that same man. But it was far easier for those at the university of Cambridgeshire and Manchester to pronounce than my given name They'd hear it once and send me off to the Celtic classroom when I was looking for the greenhouses.

"I started better off than the rest of them as Gram used the same plants as they taught for healing. The more I learned, the more I discovered how little is known about what is provided for us. All I wanted ever to do was to make my Gram well from that which twisted her joints. Bone bender we call it, you know it as congenital rheumatoid arthritis.

"The laws had changed by the time I had reached my teens. Healers and midwives weren't allowed to apprentice more than one every seven years and Gram had been given a lad that was well liked and his family had to learn the craft. I still learnt though, and faster than he did. I didn't know until later that Gram had taken him on so that the money would be there so I could go on to the university. She hoped tha' I could go further with a piece of paper behind my name. I was too young to question why the lad, if his family had the money to send me off, didn't send him instead. Gram knew though that the lad's heart wasn't into making people well. Healing can be turned both ways, and she hoped to turn his heart and hands for good. When it was all done, and I came back after passing the boards, and saw what had happened while I was gone, and how things ended, I wrote that which was published as_ Belladonna_. An even tha' turned out not how it was expected. I would have had a better practice had I studied after the sheep and goats of the town. "

They heard footsteps coming up the steps, light ones. Sydney looked up then lay back down again and sighed.

"Jessica?" said Seth's voice coming through the doorway. Taylor groaned and put her hands over her face. Willie Mac pulled them back down to her lap. "Ye need to breath, lass," he chided her.

"In here, Doc." Behind him was Tipper, who looked at the crowd and then saw Taylor on the chair. "It's all on the news, every channel. The reporters are furious that they can't speak with you, and don't believe you're not hiding in any corner of your house. The moment that I saw Sydney looking at them through the window, I knew you were here…" She nodded to Willie Mac and then turned back to Taylor with a raised eyebrow. Taylor gave her a glance that spoke volumes as Tipper cleared her throat.

"I, um, got a call from Anthony… he's been trying to get a hold of you since yesterday. He said that it's not what they are saying it is, and not what anyone thinks."

Taylor let out a slow deflating breath, then asked, "What did you tell him?"

Tipper blinked a few times. She had ripped into him for every day that had gone by while Taylor had waited for him, and the days that followed when she gave up on waiting. How it had taken all the strength that could be mustered to get out of bed and face another day.

"What you told me, to tell him if he ever did call. What you could not tell him yourself. That you did care about him and your lives would be entwined, but the time had passed when you needed him, and he should get past needing you."

Tipper saw Taylor close her eyes and tears form under the lashes as she turned her head away from Mort, Jessica and Frank. Mort stepped back from the chair when he heard a catch of a sob from her and went to Frank. "How about you helping me make up some tea for everyone?"

Jess saw Seth go to his bag that he had placed on the low table against the wall and stood up. "I'll show you where things are," she said and the three of them left the room, closing the door behind them.

Tipper stepped back to where Jessica had been sitting to be out of the way. She had the suspicion after her discussion with Anthony that he was going to do something stupid like coming to Cabot Cove to speak to Taylor for himself.

She watched as her friend's shoulders shook with silent sobs, and how the shirtless young man bent over, gathered her into his arms and holding her while speaking soft words of comfort to her. Tears glistened on Taylor's cheeks reminding Tipper that, save for Seth being there, it was straight off the covers of one of the romance novels. Giving herself a shake she saw Taylor shake her head no to the suggestion of a sedative. Where once her cheeks were pale, they now were flushed and her eyes were glistening. She overheard Willie Mac say something about her blood pressure had gone up and Seth's answer of being held in the arms of a handsome young man with no shirt would do that to most females.

Willie Mac looked at Seth as if he had taken leave of his senses. "What are you goin' on about Dr. Hazlitt? They donna give me a second glance a count of I've the height of a youngster," he said, dismissing the notion.

Seth's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps it comes with age young man, but I did notice the looks these two exchanged in regards to you, and it was in the favorable direction. They can't take their eyes off of you."

Willie Mac blinked a few times. "Really?" It was his turn to blush, and reaching to the hook he snagged his shirt and slipped it on over his bare shoulders. Tipper picked up a small pillow from the chair Jessica had been sitting on and threw it at Seth.

From Seth's smirk Tipper surmised he had been baiting her to see if she had noticed what was going on. Seth also knew that Tipper didn't tell Taylor everything. Some things could wait though, for a while. "Well, if you feel you don't need something to calm you down, then I would suggest perhaps shifting yourself out of that chair and doing something productive besides feeling sorry for yourself."

Taylor didn't move. She sat still except for her head, which was down and her shoulders moving with silent crying. Seth looked on as Willie Mac gently wrapped his arms about Taylor's shoulders and pulled her into his chest. Willie lowered his mouth to her ear and murmured something into it. Seth saw her nod and give a sigh. After a moment, her whole body went limp and Willie gently laid her sleeping form back into the chair. Seth's only reaction was to raise his eyebrow and to gently reach over and take her pulse. It was steady.

"If they bottled you as a tonic young man, you'd make a fortune," said Seth softly.

"Ach, I'd 'ave to pose shirtless for the label and I am prone to drafts. Wouldn't want to catch a chill now, would I?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Taylor didn't move. She sat still except for her head, which was down and her shoulders moving with silent crying. Seth looked on as Willie Mac gently wrapped his arms about Taylor's shoulders and pulled her into his chest. Willie lowered his mouth to her ear and murmured something into it. Seth saw her nod and give a sigh. After a moment, her whole body went limp and Willie gently laid her sleeping form back into the chair. Seth's only reaction was to raise his eyebrow and to gently reach over and take her pulse. It was steady._

"_If they bottled you as a tonic young man, you'd make a fortune," said Seth softly._

"_Ach, I'd 'ave to pose shirtless for the label and I am prone to drafts. Wouldn't want to catch a chill now, would I?"_

Tipper stayed up with Taylor while Seth and Willie Mac went downstairs with the others. She had known from Anthony's tone of voice that he was going to come to Cabot Cove to hear it from Taylor himself. She had tried to tell him that it would be the worst thing he could do – no good could come of it. But it was that damnable noble spirit. The group that had created Nightshade had resurfaced, and they had photographic proof the woman who had become close to Anthony was involved with them by the jewelry she wore. He cautioned Tipper to look for it on anyone that tried to come close to them.

In the hallway after closing the door to the room so as not to be overheard, Willie Mac turned to Seth and looked up to him.

"You should know that yesterday Taylor collapsed in my store, and it took a while for her color to improve. She said it happens more times than she is saying. Her heart was racing, and missing many a beat with premature ventricular contractions. She seems resigned to what has been happening, like there's na to be done. She's still young. Why ha ye na given her hope?"

"Young man, I am not accustomed to discussing my patients care with those who are not their relatives. The question is now, as I am familiar with all of the shops about here, which one do you own?"

"That which was called Nightshade, Dr. Hazlitt."

A knock at the door prompted Mort to go and open it, but instead of reporters he saw a young man in a brown uniform with a package for Jessica. Mort was going to sign for it, but the young man wanted Jessica to do it. He flushed when she wrote her name. "I've been a big fan of yours, Mrs. Fletcher, for many years," he gushed.

Jessica thanked him and carried the package into the house. She saw it was from the computer company and it was an external modem. Frank Jr. saw her looking rather perplexed with it as she put it on the end table. "I can help you with that later, Aunt Jessica," he piped up. She nodded, and returned to her guests.

Mort saw that all but a few of the reporters had withdrawn, realizing she wasn't at home, and were searching the town for where Taylor could be. Picking up his hat he went to Jessica and said, "I have some things I have to check on, Mrs. F. If you need anything, let me know…" He stepped up to her and gave her cheek a kiss, then nodding to Seth, he strode out the door to where the reporters were lingering.

Jessica saw Seth raise an eyebrow before turning his attention to Frank Jr. "Your appointment was to be today, but as things became a bit hectic this morning, how about we do things here?" he asked. Frank Jr. regarded him then nodded as Seth led him into the back parlor area.

They could hear Seth's voice speaking to Frank Jr. and his replies. Willie Mac turned and asked Jessica, "If you have any spare glass, I can fix the broken window before something else comes in…"

"There is some tucked behind the swing on the porch, as well as the clips to secure it. With Frank coming, well, his father broke many windows while learning to play baseball over the years… Thank you."

In the parlor area Seth had brought the basics for an eye test. He wasn't an ophthalmologist, but he had with him the tools to see if there was something functionally wrong with Frank's eyes. He couldn't prescribe glasses, but there was a good doctor in Portland who could and he would see that they got an appointment as soon as possible to be fitted with glasses. His father had preferred wire rims, but that would make most kids look a bit nerdish, as his granddaughter would say.

Seth held the paddle up to Frank. "Cover your right eye. Can you read this line?" he asked.

"E- W- L …"

"What about the next line?"

Mort went to his office and dug out of his files the business card that he had been given by Jessica several years before when she was traveling overseas. He compared it to the same one he had been given by Willie Mac and frowned. Willie's card had a different number listed under Met - 020 7233 4128. But the number for George was the same. His hand hesitated over the phone. It could be that he was bluffing, that everything Willie Mac had told them was the truth or that he could be as wicked to the bone as the rest of them. The thing was, if he was a confidence man, by passing the card to Mort to lend credibility to his story, he was counting on the average police officer not to follow up on it - the cost to call the UK alone would be prohibitive for most departments. Mort sat down in his chair and looked at the card again. Flipping his over he saw something that he had missed before when he had first placed the card in the file. He booted up his computer, logged on and began to type. It was ten minutes after he had hit the send button on the email that his phone rang. When Mort hung up the phone his face was troubled.

Tipper came down the steps and saw Willie Mac fixing the window. She could hear Seth giving Frank some sort of exam. Jessica was sitting at the table with the modem out of the box looking at the instructions. The tea was on the tray, untouched. Tipper snuck another look at Willie. She didn't know how Taylor managed to meet him, and as the door was closed between the kitchen and the back porch she was fairly certain that Willie wouldn't over hear what she had to tell Jessica.

Jess looked at Tipper. "Yes, I saw the book over at Taylor's house this morning. He also said upstairs that he wrote it after he came back from Cambridgeshire and Manchester."

She saw Tipper thinking. "Well, that makes sense," she said slowly. "His written English is flawless, but his dictation of the language is … unique."

"I noticed that too. I do know that my cousin Emma has the same speech patterns as he does, but when she is on the stage speaking in a role; her English can be from any quarter of the UK. I've taught students who were learning English, and who had spoken it, returned home, and then had to speak it again. They find it difficult to think in English, and to find the words. They hesitate and slip back into familiar patterns when it's not forced upon them. He seems to have a genuine concern regarding Taylor."

"One can hope for the 'happy ever after,' Jessica," she said turning her head to watch him work.

"And he isn't too shabby on the eyes either?" asked Jessica.

Tipper fought not to grin too hard. "Ayuh, you'd be right on that account," she said with a smile.

Tipper was just pouring the tea when Seth entered into the room. Jessica knew what was coming as he handed her a slip of paper. "I have made arrangements for you two to be taken to Portland this afternoon at 3 o'clock to meet with Dr. Samuels who is an ophthalmologist, and you may be able to fill Frank's eye glass prescription in a few days. From what I have been able to ascertain, it may be all corrected with glasses, and perhaps some eye exercises. He was ecstatic to be able to read very fine print with my bifocals. Hopefully…" he shrugged.

The door opened and Willie Mac entered into the kitchen. "Your window's in, and the glass is up off the riser. There are still a few reporters who are nosing about your neighbors' yards, but no more of them in yours, or Taylor's. She's still asleep, then?" he asked Tipper, who nodded.

"No, I'm up now," said her voice from the living room as she crossed the floor. She had dressed and had her shoes in her hands. "We have a lot to do today," she said to Willie,

"What did you have in mind?" asked Tipper, suddenly interested. "I have the next 3 days off, can I help?"

Seth, showing an interest in seeing what was planned, offered to drive them to the shop, and, as he put it mildly, "Make a fast get-away if the press is hanging around." That left Jessica and Frank, who did want to go, but understood that he would need to get ready for the eye exam in the afternoon, and didn't want to lose track of time. Besides, there was the trip to the library to use the computers that he so desperately wanted to log on to so he could see what was happening. He saw the modem on the table.

"Is that all you need to be hooked up?" he asked, curious, after they had left. Jessica nodded. "Piece of cake," he said, picking it up and looking at his aunt.

She took a breath. "All right. If we can get this working, for today you may check your web site."

Frank started for the door, then waited as Jessica reached in her pocket and pulled out the key.

"Why do you keep it locked?" he asked. "Because of me?"

Jessica shook her head. "No. The hasp has problems staying unlocked. There is a spring missing, and it's just become easier to carry the key than to have the lock replaced."

Frank unplugged the computer and then the old modem, and re-plugged in everything in proper order. In a few moments they were online and he was entering in his passwords. Jessica was curious and stood behind him as he clicked on the entrance to one of the web message boards.

"Huh?" he said out loud.

"What is it?" she asked, curious at his disappointment.

He turned in the chair and looked at her. "It's all gone. Everything. No explanation, either." Rubbing his chin he hit the back button and tried the second link to his personal message area. There were twenty PMs from several different people. Curious, he pulled up the one from the Moderator of the board that they were just on.

"Whoa…" was all he could say.

Jessica caught the tone of the message and turned his chair around. "Frank, tell me exactly what is going on. Why is he so upset with you? What did you do?" she said, trying to be very calm about what she had read over his shoulder. The moderator was furious and using language that even as an English teacher she had to think of what the meanings were. She also saw that the moderator wasn't conjugating his verbs and nouns properly.

"The last thing that I told him was that I was going to think about what was being done on the board, and that he would have my decision shortly."

"Is there anyone here that you know that can tell you what happened?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah, Dot would know. And I don't see any PMs from Dot…" he said, before going to the button that said "new message." He waited until it opened and then typed in, _"What_ _da heck happened?"_ in the Message title area followed by, _"Dot - I've missed exactly what happened on the boards, when I had a chance today just now to check them, everything was wiped out. My PM box is filled with most of the people in the group_ _saying that I am a lame-ass idiot. What do they think I did? I was shipped off to my great aunt's house for the summer and between a bad modem and a power failure at the library, I haven't been able to go online. If you texted me, my phone is back home, it's out of range up here. Please let me know. Thanks, QuillGoi"_

"Kill Joy?" Jess said with a bit of amusement in her eyes.

"They kept calling me that because I kept telling them what they were doing was wrong. I can't show you the boards, but I can show you how it started." Frank went back to the home page and did a Google search of a few terms. He clicked a link and the page opened to show a photograph of a beautiful red haired girl wearing a white v-neck cotton blouse. A thin chain hung around her neck with a triangle shaped pendent. Frank stood up. "It takes a while to read, Aunt Jessica, so you'd better sit down."

Midway through Frank handed Jessica a box of tissues. When she final was done, she clicked back to the PM area, but there was no answer from Dot. She logged off, and then turned off the computer. She glanced at her watch. "Oh, our ride will be here in 45 minutes, we'd better get ready." Frank didn't move. Jessica looked at him.

"I understand, and I will help you in every way I can while you are here to find out who murdered that young woman. I won't make you go to the library to do it, but I will be right beside you when you log on until you log off, is that understood?"

"Thank you," he said in a small voice, nodding his head. He looked at her "Am I really a lame dumb-ass?"

"No, you're not. But when people get upset they say things. It's hard to say 'I am sorry I was wrong,' and often they will not say it in the same place that they became angry in. Don't hold your breath waiting for an apology, either. Some people are so head-strong they don't understand how words affect people when they are not said face to face."

"Nice to know that some adults are mature about things," he said, keeping a straight face.

Seth sat down on a packing crate and folded t-shirts to go inside of it. The more he saw and listened to Willie Mac, the more he had questions for him regarding how Nightshade had become such a monster.

Thankfully, the lower basement area had been cleaned out by the DEA. Only a few boxes needed to be carried up the steps by Tipper and Willie before everything was all in the front room.

"Last is the sign to be taken down. I don't want anything to do with it," said Willie Mac. He noticed that Taylor was not in the main room where she had been previously placing labels on the boxes. He heard a gentle sweeping upstairs. Seth saw his anxious glance in the direction of the sound.

Tipper placed her hand on his shoulder. "She often does as she darn well pleases."

"Ah, I haven't met a lady who doesn't," he said. "Right, who has the hammer so we can have a go at the sign?"

Taylor went from room to room sweeping up years of dust and small insect bodies that she would rather not think about where they came from or what they were. She heard the sounds of pounding outside and stole a glance out the window, watching Willie as he removed the nails that held the sign for the shop. Last night after they had eaten, she had taken him up to where the spare bedroom was. He had said sleeping on the floor was fine for him, or even in a chair, just as long as he knew she was okay. She had smiled, and lifting his hand placed it over her heart which was beating steady. He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it softly. Maybe what Seth said was true. Maybe it was the accent, or his clothing which made him look all the more like a romantic figure from the past. Maybe it was the look of tenderness in his eyes as he tucked her into bed and kissed her forehead, bidding her to sleep.

There was the sound of the hammer coming down wrong and a long string of words in a language that she didn't understand. She looked out the window to see Willie nursing his thumb. The last blow had freed the sign. Giving it a wrench Willie lowered it to where Tipper was waiting. He looked up, his thumb still in his mouth and saw her in the window holding the broom, the wind gently blowing her hair. He caught his breath. She was beautiful. For a moment he didn't move until he heard Tipper asking the same question three times. He looked down to answer it, and then looked up. Taylor had moved from the window. Climbing down the ladder he put the hammer into the tool box and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Now what?" asked, dusting her hands off as Seth dragged the sign into the store.

"Well, I canna ask ye to help with the scrub down and linseeding the floors. And there's dinner to be taken care of, it's getting to be that time. Tomorrow two trucks will arrive, one in the morning, to haul this away, and the afternoon one, to bring in the other things…" He sat down on a crate. "I canna believe that this nightmare is almost over," he said wiping away sudden tears.

"What will you do now? This place is zoned commercial - not residential," said Seth, easing himself onto another trunk. "Even before, the people who ran this shop didn't stay here - the upper rooms of this place always became beastly hot over the summer and ghastly cold in the winter. There isn't any insulation to speak of, and the wiring in this place wouldn't support a coffee maker."

"He will be staying with me," said Taylor as she came down the steps. Tipper saw Seth's jaw hit the floor.

"Young lady …" Seth began.

Taylor raised her hand and stopped his reply. "You said yourself that I should have someone stay with me just in case. Well, the way I see it, it's a win-win for both of us: Willie has a place to stay, and I won't be alone when I die, and after, well, he can stay there if he wishes. I've been very lucky these last few years. Being here in Cabot Cove has given me an extension on my life, but I've come to realize it's been rather empty. You all have been wonderful friends and you have your own lives, going to your homes at the end of the day, you still have your family at the other end of the phone line. I just have Sydney."

Mort found himself pacing outside of Jessica's house waiting for them to return. With relief he saw the taxi pull up and Frank helping Jessica out of the back of the taxi before handing him the money for the fair. He saw Frank had heavy sunglasses over a natty pair of thicker wire rim glasses. Jessica sent him ahead to open the door with her key and faced Mort.

"What is it?" she asked softly. Frank watched as the two adults spoke, then she nodded and thanked Mort.

Mort was about to get in his car to go down to where the Nightshade shop was when Seth's car came down the street and pulled up behind Mort's. Willie and Taylor got out of the back of the car, Tipper out of the front. Seth turned off the engine when he saw Mort standing there with his hat in his hand. Getting out of the car he saw Mort walk up to Willie Mac and incline his head to Taylor's home. Seth knew something was wrong, and he and Tipper followed.

Mort indicated they were to sit down. He paced for a moment then said, "I have to admit, I was more than a bit curious and skeptical about you, Willie Mac, especially when you have two different names. That card from Scotland Yard had me for a while as well. The budget of Cabot Cove's sheriff department doesn't allow much for long distance phone cards, but the internet service can go world wide. I also happen to have the email address for George Sutherland, who does know you, and your family. He was kind enough to make some calls to the University of Cambridge, and to Manchester. I also put in calls to Coventry House, who wouldn't discuss exactly what the terms of the settlement were."

"And?" Seth said impatiently.

"Willie Mac did go to and graduated with his doctorate in medical biology and Herbology 5 yrs ago with high honors. They remember him very well, as he was the only student to walk into the green house on campus and correctly identify every plant inside by their botanical designation, and their common name in two other languages as well as their use - including the weeds - prior to taking a single class. His height was another thing they remembered. Inspector Sutherland remembers him from not from the loss of the sword, but from the first time that the sword was used to murder his grandmother's last apprentice, Stephan Furhdaham, or, as it would be Americanized, Fordham, older brother of Kent Fordham who was arrested for his involvement in the Nightshade operation. It seems that there was a bit of a feud going on between the two families. No one would say how it was started, but the sword had been used quite a few times by both sides to kill off the other. Stephan was run through with that sword, but no one knows by whom. The blade was wiped clean, and your Gram's hands were incapable of holding the sword, let alone pushing it through him. You were back from school though. You saw what was going on, and how ill your Gram had become. You're a smart man as well - you knew who was responsible and why. You came home covered in blood, and the constable let you go. They took the sword only to check for the prints, and then gave it back to you. You wrote your book, and were out when Kent came to take photos and took the sword. I want to know why they looked the other way, and didn't take you in for the murder The report on the murder said it was the same blood type as his on your clothing - and why they didn't help you recover the sword if you knew who had it."

"I dinna kill Stephen, as much as I loathed him and his family. The blood on m' shirt wasn't his. It was from Lucy Donahue. Gram was ill, Stephen was drugged out of his mind, and Lucy was in labor. Her Da came for a healer, and I was the only one who could come. Stephen was the father of tha' wee babe. The constable only had to go to look, and knew I was there. Lucy almost died giving birth. As for who did it, the only one who knew that Stephen was the father was her father. The laws are particular when it comes to the rights of a father for the dishonor of family. Lucy ha' just turned 15. I'm na saying that Lucy's father did the killing - there were others Stephen had taken to bed. Stephen was twice her age. There is a saying, they have, tha if you can't kill them off, you can knock it out of them. Do ye know wha' that means, Sheriff?" Mort gave a nod.

"The sword ha' been in my family for 3000 years. In tha' time, yes, it has helped to settle feuds between the two families. He who held the sword, held the land. It was passed down from father to son and the birthrights were placed in the handle each generation. For you, if your country's wars last 10 years it seems like a very long time. The war to keep the sword has lasted 500 years, and we had kept it. Gram, when she said he could take the photographs of it, gave Kent the words he said to remove it from the house, and none would help get it back because it was not their place. The jewels tha' were woven on the hilt and that horrid Triangle hourglass were from his family crest. He was remaking the sword as he would have had it cast. If I wanted my birthright, I had to find it, and get it back myself. I returned the stones, I am na a thief, nor would be called one for keeping them. It is why he had it on display in every shop, on every book cover, to taunt me to come, and to hide his trail. He even had the contract written for the shops that Sutton House owned everything in the shop at the time that they would close. It is why I have returned everything to them. The murder and the sword being locked up at the time that the shops closing was the only thing that prevented Kent's family from reclaiming the sword - it wasn't in the shop when the company folded up. It fell to me, though, to do the work that they would not, and though they may hope that the sword has been packed away, they know it has not now."

"If you're innocent, once you had the sword, why didn't you go back?" asked Seth.

"He can't go back, not ever. It's because he didn't use the sword to avenge his father's death at the hands of Stephan's father," said Tipper softly. "I did jump to the end of the book, and it said as much," she admitted.

"A healer does na use his hands for harm. When asked, a healer must teach and put all else aside. Though I have claimed my birthright, I am a healer, and I canna use the sword. I canna fight for the land that I have taken back by the edge of the sword. Only my children can, and I am without issue. But for my Gram, it is enough for her to know that hope lives on. Kent Fordham is the last of his family's line, as I am the last of my family. None who were by Stephen were ever claimed by him before his death… they weren't quite right, you see, and none were male to carry on his line."

Taylor had been sitting in silence the whole time listening to what was being said. She watched Mort look at Willie Mac, then nod.

"All right. I believe you. Maybe it's from years of working with Mrs. Fletcher that I am beginning to think like her. If Scotland Yard says you haven't done anything wrong, I won't say otherwise. What I want to know is, will this feud be carried over by Fordham's followers?"

"I can't answer that, Sheriff. I don't know if they understand what it's all about, or if they would know the rules. Unless he has issue that he has claimed, and there is a record of their birth father, then it comes to the end with the passing of his father."

Tipper stood up and dusted off her jeans. "Well, if that's all, Sheriff, it's been a long day and I have to get home to feed my brood before they eat the canary."

Seth stood too. "Ayuh, tomorrow is another long day, Mort. Don't you have arm wrestling practice with Adele tonight?"

Mort shot Seth a glance. "Only if you're going to be available to reset my shoulder again. He saw Seth smile as he nodded to Willie Mac and Taylor. "Good night, you two."

Taylor walked them to the door and thanked them for their help today. When they had pulled away from the curb, she locked the door and put the blind into place. She saw Willie Mac standing in the door frame. He had a perplexed look on his face.

"Why would your Sheriff be working with Mrs. Fletcher?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen.**

_Mort shot Seth a glance. "Only if you're going to be available to reset my shoulder again. He saw Seth smile as he nodded to Willie Mac and Taylor. "Good night, you two." _

_Taylor walked them to the door and thanked them for their help today. When they had pulled away from the curb, she locked the door and put the blind into place. She saw Willie Mac standing in the door frame. He had a perplexed look on his face. _

"_Why would your Sheriff be working with Mrs. Fletcher?"_

Taylor looked over at Jessica's house and then back to Willie Mac. "Oh, well, she's solved over 283 murders in the last 12 years. She's taught criminology, and she writes murder mysteries… I think her last count of published books is 30." She saw Willie Mac look stunned.

"Tha sweet lady!"

Taylor nodded.

It was over dessert that Taylor leaned back in her chair and carefully scooped a small amount of chocolate ice cream on her spoon. She paused and looked at him.

"Willie, if you can't go back, would you consider bringing your Gram here to Cabot Cove, to live with you? She's retired from being a healer, isn't she? Wouldn't she be happier, staying with you?"

He sighed and put his spoon in his ice cream. "Gram would be happier if I married, and had grandchildren for her. And she'd say that there can be only one woman under a roof if a man is to be happy."

Mort pulled into his driveway and sighed. He loved his wife dearly, and would do anything for her. Arm wrestling was just one more thing that he added to the list of things to do to keep a marriage happy. He sighed and picked up his hat where it had slid to the floor on the passenger side of the police cruiser. He saw a small square of paper that had slipped unnoticed between the bucket seats. Carefully he extracted it, and saw writing on the back of the paper. It gave a date, and a last name. Frowning as to why the name sounded so familiar, but unable to place who it was, he flipped the paper over and saw it was a photograph of a middle-aged woman who was holding a rounded belly. A sad far-away look was in her eyes. Mort knew those eyes. He knew that face, or more precisely, one that was older. He picked up his cell phone as his heart pounded in his chest. He dialed the only number he knew that would be able to answer his questions.

"Doc? … Yeah, I know… just two more things… What was Mrs. F.'s maiden name, and did she ever have a baby?"

Mort's eye brows went up, and then he became puzzled again at Seth's second answer. "All right. Thanks Doc," he said, slipping the photograph in an evidence envelope and placing it on his visor. It was late. He had to think of how he was going to approach what he had learned in the morning light. Sighing, he got out of the car, locked it, and went in where his wife had her sleeves rolled up and the table ready.

Frank Jr. was restless all through dinner. He was quick to help with the clean up, and had begged off dessert, but he did wait patiently as Jessica had a cookie and tea herself. She knew he wanted to go online and check his private messages. When everything was finished and he had changed for bed, she met him in the study with the computer already turned on. She saw his face light up as there was a note regarding a new message from Dot. Eagerly he clicked the link and opened it up.

"_Quillgoi,_

_Everything was wiped because someone sent her parents a copy of everything on the boards, and the moderator panicked. They think you did it because you have been so vocal against everything they were doing, and they said every one else checked out, that they didn't do it. They are freaking out and saying the FBI is going to get involved now because of you… I told them you were going away, but they didn't believe me. Guess I may be a suspect too. Hang tight._

_Dot."_

Frank looked at Jessica. "Guess I have to be the adult and straighten things out…"

She nodded to him and saw something in the corner of Dot's PM.

"Frank, what is that thing?" she said, pointing to the square that held a triangle with an infinity symbol in it.

"Oh, that's Dot's avatar, he said it's an hourglass in a triangle, though a lot of people say it's the infinity sign, Avatars are like, a picture, or drawing that they do so it makes it easier to recognize who is who on the boards and who posted what. Mine is that," he said pointing to a square that had QG linked together. "There is a larger version of it on his profile. I can call it up for you if you would like." Jessica nodded. In a few clicks, Frank had pulled up a 3x3 version of the same thing, and at her request, had saved it to her hard drive before he PM'ed the Moderators and explained to them that no, he had not mailed anything to the parents of the girl, he had been on his way to his great aunt's house shortly after he had sent the last PM, and only was able to get on line that day. He added that his printer didn't work, and he had no time to print out anything from the message board nor would he have any clue as to what the parents' address was. Almost right away he got a PM back from the moderator accusing him of doing it because he had been vocal, and said he was going to do "something."

Frank sighed, then replied. _"Nothing that I am going to say will change your mind. Please contact her parents and ask them what the post mark was on the letter, and the zip, and then compare it to where everyone lives from your records."_

There was a bout a 3 minute pause before he received a terse reply. _"The transcripts were emailed, not mailed. Who told you they were mailed?"_

Frank sighed then typed back the message, _"Dot told me they were sent. I don't have the parents' email address and if my life depended on it, I wouldn't know where to find it,_

_only the person who joined up after I did, who made the web page for her parents, and you can ask her, I didn't ask for the email address or even get in contact with her. I have no friggin' idea what had happened until just today. I won't hold my breath waiting for an apology, but the least you can do is tell the others to stop sending me nasty grams. My Great Aunt says that you're misplacing your modifiers as well. She's an English teacher… and is reading over my shoulder."_

When there was no answer back after a few minutes, Frank sighed, then asked if she had anyplace to go on line. Jessica shook her head. Frank could see that she was thinking, but didn't know what she was thinking about. He signed off and shut down the computer. Turning in the chair, for the first time he noticed there was over 30 books on several shelves that had 'J. B, Fletcher" on them. "Hey, that's my last name. I don't know any J. B.'s though. Do you? Are we related to them?"

Jessica laughed, then saw he was serious. "Why don't you look at the back jacket and see if there is a photograph of the author?" she asked, trying to keep a straight face.

He pulled out the first one and saw that it was _The Corpse Danced at Midnight_. Turning the book over, he saw a much younger version of his Aunt Jessica. He opened the dust cover and began to read: _"J. B. Fletcher captivates in this daring novel of danger and murder that will keep the readers guessing until the last paragraph. From the small town of Cabot Cove, Maine …_ Hey, that book was written – here!" He turned the book over again and looked at it, then puzzled he replaced it and pulled out the last one that had a more recent photograph.

"Whoa. You wrote all of these? But… you're just an English teacher – but how?"

She sat down. "Well, when your great Uncle Frank died, I needed something to do, so I began to write. Then your father found the manuscript and sent it off to a publisher, and people liked it. Some of the stories that I have written were based on real mysteries that I had helped to solve. Being an English teacher gave me an advantage. I was used to reading, and researching, and it opened an entirely new world for me to find out things that could make a difference in some one's life. I became more observant, and sometimes the little things would jump out at me, and it helped to solve crimes."

"Wicked!" Frank thought for a moment. "Why did you have me save Dot's avatar?" he asked, curious. "Is it jumping out at you?" He saw she had a very serious look on her face.

"Frank, what do you know about Dot? How long have you known him?"

"Awhile. He was the one who told everyone about the murder in the first place. He saw the posters about it in the windows of different shops. Now, what is so important about the avatar?"

Jessica took a breath.

"That symbol was used several years ago by an organization that, well, was very dangerous. For a while they were here in Cabot Cove, until Dr. Henderson and Miss Andrews discovered that they were lacing products with highly addictive drugs and selling it to innocent people. That symbol was everywhere, in windows, hanging on wind chimes, wind socks, and many people just didn't understand what it meant. What is puzzling is that in all of the renditions of it, I have never seen it in gold before."

"Yes, you have Aunt Jessica. The girl who was killed, her photograph had her wearing one on a gold chain. It's pretty small in the picture, but, well, I saved her picture as my wallpaper on my computer, and you can see it better that way. They must have shopped at the same store."

Jessica looked into Frank's eyes and saw trust, and innocence. She nodded slowly then saw the time. "Good gracious, its almost 10 pm. Way past your bed time, young man."

Frank went to Jessica and gave her a hug. "Thank you," he said simply.

"For what?"

He shrugged. "For being the most coolest aunt I have."

She sat in her room in silence after he had gone to bed and she had tucked him in. She didn't know exactly how to tell him what she suspected. She didn't know how to go about trying to verify what she was feeling. She looked at the phone, and then next door, and saw Taylor's lights were still on in the lower part of the house. She went to the phone and began to dial.

Frank woke to a tickle on his nose. He rubbed it, and felt it be tickled again. Opening his eyes, he found himself face to face with Sydney, who was licking his nose. It was dawn. Sighing to himself that the sun came up way too early for his liking, he put Sydney to one side and walked to the bathroom. When he came out, Sydney was at the door, waiting for him. He looked and saw Jessica's door was open, her bed still with the covers folded down, and her night clothes at the bottom of the bed. Concerned, he half ran down the steps and across the living room to the study where he ran into her arms as she sat behind the computer desk.

"Aunt Jessica! You're all right!" he gasped. He backed up a step, and saw that she was very tired, and still in the clothes from the night before. She looked like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"What's wrong? Did something happen to Mum and Dad?"

She shook her head but couldn't answer. Frank heard footsteps, and turning saw Willie come in with a tray that had several cups and her tea pot on it. He handed her a cup. "Drink," he commanded. She took a sip then set the cup down as Willie pulled up a chair, and then looked at Jessica who gave a single nod. She gripped the arm of her chair as Willie took Frank by the hand and guided him between the two of them.

"Frank, I ha to speak with ye man to man, and I need you to listen all the way through before you ask any questions, okay?" Frank nodded.

"Jessica called me last night to look up some sales records, and we found out things that were very important, and some of them may make ye sad or angry when ye hear them. The young lady who died was given tha' pendent of a triangle hourglass because she had worked at the Nightshade store, and she was top sales person for twelve months in a row. There were only 7 that were given out all told, and only one of them ha' na been accounted for. It didna' make her a bad person to be that, in fact, she was a very nice person, one of the best that store had, and she only sold things like t-shirts and crystals and the like, na the stuff that was making people sick. The night she died, she was wearing that pendent, and it wasn't found afterwards. The person who killed her took it for themselves."

Frank shrugged. "Dot must have been one of the 7 then… or he saw it, and got a copy of it somewhere."

He saw Willie shake his head. "No. On the back is a trademark symbol. No one would ha' copied it, and there were so few of them out there, tha' he wouldna have seen it, unless he had gone to the store, but by his accounts afor according to what he wrote, he never met her, an there wasn't any other store near where he lives tha' had an employee who won the pendent. He couldna have seen it elsewhere, except on her."

"But, Dot - he's my friend. I trust him, He couldn't have done it. He – he wouldn't have." He turned to Jessica and she saw the tears and the anger building up on his face. "You did this!" he said to Jessica, his anger seething to the surface.

Willie turned him back to face him. "Frank, remember what I said about speaking, man ta man. Please let me finish." Frank struggled with his emotions, then nodded as he bit his bottom lip.

"Jessica called her friend at Scotland Yard, and he was able to do some checking for us, and then we put in a call to the district attorney in LA, who Taylor knows, and they were able to use the IP address in both the email that was sent to the girl's parents, an the one used on the board, and it matched that which uploaded the avatar that Dot used. Jessica used the IM and kept him talking until they were able to track him down and take him into custody. He was wearing the pendent, and he confessed to killing her because she wouldn't go out with him. She trusted him tha' night when she was coming home, and he betrayed that trust and murdered her. Jessica tells me tha' he told you it was a triangle and an hour glass. Only the people who wore those gold pendants knew what the symbol really was, because a man named Kent Fordham was the one to tell them. Everyone else thought that it was an infinity symbol - she told him what it was, what it meant, and he took it, ending her time on earth."

"No…" said Frank, shaking his head, fighting off more tears. "He wouldn't… he ... he's my friend."

"I'm sorry lad. I don't doubt that he valued your friendship, and cared about you, if tha's any thing. Her parents know now what happened to her, and they know you're the one who helped solve what happened to their little girl." Willie saw that Frank was trembling where he stood. He was fighting off tears, and guilt and anger, and horror, and it was too much for him. Picking up one of the extra mugs of tea, he held it to Frank's lips. "Drink this," he said softly.

Frank took a drink and winced. "Ugh, it's awful!"

Willie let out a slow breath. "Aye, a hot toddy is, but nothing better to calm after a shock. Another sip will do it I think…"

Frank took another sip, and felt his body go warm, and heavier. He looked at Willie, tears in his eyes. "He was my friend," he said as he began to cry. Willie held him in his arms then lifted him onto his lap as Jessica covered him with a soft lap robe. She swallowed some of the tea. Willie was right about it, about how it calmed the rattled nerves and dulled the pain in one's heart.

It was a bit later, when Frank was tucked onto the sofa with the lap robe over him that Jessica came over to Willie Mac and said softly, "Taylor told me about what Mort said yesterday evening, and what your book ending said… there was one flaw to the telling of events. Only your grandmother would know the significance of the sword being used to kill Stephen. Lucy's father wouldn't, he would probably use his own to do the job, not cross the room, pull it off of the wall and then run a man through with it. He wouldn't have left his daughter as ill as she was, not knowing her fate, or leaving it to a strange man to do by himself. That would leave you, or your grandmother. And you were away delivering a baby, one that your grandmother knew who the father was, if that was the motive for why he was killed."

Willie didn't change expressions as Jessica allowed her supposition to dangle. Finally he gave a sigh and said in a soft voice, "Do you know what Rohypnol, or flunitrazepam as the generic brand is, or gamma-hydroxybutryate, can do to a woman? One that is in their late 90s? Or why a lad who is nearing 40 feels the need to deliver it to her in her evening tea, and then na care if she's had enough na to remember before making advances upon her? It was what he had been giving her every other night for several weeks, sometimes just to make her sleep while he searched for the documents that my father had hidden, never guessing where they were. When I came back from the university, I knew by the bruises on her something was amiss, but she didna remember any way they could have happened. The constable found her in a state when he arrived. He, he told me that others had been found in the same way, but didn't know who the lad was, until that day. I canna say if she did, or didn't. She doesn't remember, and there was no blood where she lay. It could have even been the constable, as his daughter was one who had suffered as well. He said Stephen was like a rabid dog that someone was moved to put down… Gram doesn't leave her house now. She doesn't heal anyone anymore. She's lost the ability to trust. Stephen murdered that in her."

A limo pulled up in front of Jessica's house later that afternoon. Several people got out and in a moment the doorbell rang. Jessica opened the door to see an older man and a woman whose world ended half a year before. Jessica recognized them and the man who stood behind the couple and opened the door for them. Frank looked up from where he was reading his English lesson for the day. He stood out of respect as they entered the room. Jessica introduced the girl's parents to Frank, who launched himself across the room and hugged both of them saying over and over again, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He later flatly refused the reward money for information that lead to the arrest of the person who had killed her, and told them to use it to make something that would be used as a memorial for their daughter.

Anthony drew away from the room and the raw emotions that were swirling inside. Jessica went over to him, seeing the question in his eyes.

"I spoke to Tipper, and she informed me that things were over between Taylor and myself. Was that just her protecting Taylor, or the truth?"

"I can't answer that. I watched her tell Taylor what she told you, and I saw the pain that it caused her to feel that what you two had was over. I do know that she waited for you far too long."

Anthony sighed. "Is she next door?" he asked.

Jessica shook her head. "If anywhere, she is down at the store that used to be called Nightshade, with Tipper and the new owner of the store."

Taylor had gone down to the store to open it and wait while the truck that was going to haul away the packed up merchandise would arrive. Willie had her stay in bed while he went over, and she left Sydney there so that she would not get underfoot while they were moving things, or get accidentally packed with everything. Scrubbing down the floors then wiping them down with linseed oil wasn't that hard - well, for some at least – and by the time the truck had come and gone, she had cleaned the entire upstairs and was working on the steps.

Willie came down from Jessica's house looking very sad. There wasn't much time for discussion as the second truck bringing Willie's things arrived, and the rest of the morning was spent unloading the truck and putting things into the proper rooms. Not that she was working hard - she spent the time sitting on a box checking off crate numbers and then signing off on the paper work. When the truck left, she pulled him down on the box beside her, and handed him her water bottle to take a sip from. She saw the sadness in his eyes as he finally had the chance to tell her what they had found out and how Frank had taken it.

Taylor reached up and grasped his chin in her hand, turning his head towards hers. She spread her fingers opening her hand as he kissed the palm, then moving closer he carefully pressed his lips to hers and eased his arms about her body. His kiss was shy, gently and fumbling. She parted her lips as she smiled, and when they came up for air she saw there was a flush on his cheeks. "That color looks good on you," she said breathlessly before they moved in again, this time with more confidence.

Neither saw Anthony arrive in the open door, or stand watching the two of them kiss, or heard his muffled yelp as Tipper pulled him out of the doorframe and back down on to the street away from their line of sight by his ear. Anthony had faced killers in the courtroom, he had been on stake-outs and shoot-outs, but nothing frightened him more than the look on Tipper's face as she kicked him in the shins. "What did I tell you about not coming up and causing her more grief?" she snapped.

Anthony hopped on his uninjured leg. "Oww! I have no idea what an equine rectal sleeve is! But I do know I love her!"

"Then don't cause her pain. She's in love with someone who is able to actually take care of her for the rest of her life, how ever long that may be. She isn't the same person that she was 4 years ago, Anthony. She isn't the woman you fell in love with."

Tipper saw the pain on his face as he looked back to the store where Taylor's soft giggle came wafting through the door.

"Be happy for her, Anthony. Can you do that?"

He looked back at her. In the distance at one of the dock side shops a bell was ringing.

"Come on." She said tugging his arm and leading him down the hill. "That's the bell for high tide, and the drinks are 50 cents. I'm buying."

He gave a last look, then nodded. If only for a while he would have memories of how beautiful the sea was, and the calm that followed as his troubles receded with the tide.


	16. Chapter 16

**"TILL DEADLY DO WE PACT"**

_(Fourth story in the Tabhairt Isteach Do series)_

_The character Dr. Tipper Henderson has been created by Anne and used with permission. The characters found in the word of Murder She Wrote belong to the people who created the wonderful series. No copyright infringement is meant. This story and the others were created so that the fandom of Murder She Wrote could continue. I make no money off of this. If there is a tangible reward for this, it is in knowing that someone out there just might like it. I don't know how one can place a monetary value on happiness, as money can't buy it._

Written By Kats- © May 3rd 2006

**Chapter Sixteen**

Frank Fletcher ran down the hall to the classroom and skidded to a stop just in front of the door. People were standing up for a break. He looked over his shoulder and saw the clock hand just hit 10:52 am. He burst into the room yelling, "Wait! I'm here!"

The school principal, Mr. Wallace Daniels, an overweight, balding man with a hooked nose, regarded him over his gray steel rimed glasses and frowned. "It's too late Mr. Fletcher. Your appointment was at 8 this morning. Owing to your casual disregard for proper attendance for your review, I have no choice but to assign you to repeat last year. Perhaps then you will have a better understanding of the consequences of your actions."

"What do you mean my appointment was at 8? The letter my aunt got said 10:50! And it says Room 103, but the janitor told me when I got there that it had been moved to 404, here. And the elevators don't work, so I had to run up four flights of steps. And I have 10:53 on my watch!" Frank stood in the door breathing hard. He had run two blocks from where the bus had dropped them off, up the steps and down the hall to the classroom only to discover no one there.

"The letter we sent to your home yesterday stated the change," the principal said lifting his brief case up onto the table.

"Lovely, but if you remember, I am staying with my aunt in Cabot Cove, Maine, and it takes four days for mail to be forwarded to where she lives. I shouldn't be held to blame for something beyond my control or that you 'said' you mailed. There is no proof that you even sent the letter…"grumbled Frank.

"That's quite enough, young man!" Wally snapped, irritated.

"No, it's not! You said my appointment was changed to 8 am, and by the bus schedule here, there would have been no way that I could have made that on time coming from Maine, and you knew that because my parents discussed where I would be staying, and that they told you my Aunt Jessica doesn't drive, so coming here would have be by bus. There was nothing in the letter that you sent to them months ago that I would have to come here to present what I have learned in the information you gave them," Frank said, exasperated.

"Your aunt is not a board certified member of our school district. We have every right to question the level of education that you have received over the summer," said Ms. Peters, his English teacher, as she set her small purse back down on the table with a heavy clunk...

"Funny, you didn't mention that to my parents when they spoke with you two months ago," said Frank folding his arms across his chest. Ms. Peters was the only English teacher the school had, and was responsible for teaching English to all the grades. She had never cut him any slack in all of the years he had been going to that school. He watched her shake her head, her earrings shimmering slightly beneath her mane of red hair.

"The matter is closed young man. I happen to concur with the principal on this matter. You will repeat last year, and perhaps your grades will improve this time," Ms. Peters said closing a folder on the table as she stood up.

"Fine. Then I am requesting a formal hearing with the school board and the press in regards to this matter," Frank replied, gathering up his nerve to push just a bit harder. He had to. It was his only chance of making it right.

"You can't do that," said the principal dryly.

Frank leaned forward defiantly, his arms still crossed in front of him. "Oh yes I can," he said, tilting his head to one side and setting his jaw firmly. He was not about to let them see the emotional turmoil that was seething inside of him.

The principal's reply was cut short by the school nurse, who said with a note of irritation, "He can, and should - honestly Wally, do you want to spend time in front of 250 parents next week answering why your office couldn't get a schedule right for him or why you're so eager to not take the time to listen to what he has to say? We have an hour before lunch and I really don't want to go over the financial report from two years ago."

Frank held his breath. If he managed to pull this off, he was going to buy Miss Shellie, the school nurse, the biggest batch of roses that he could find to thank her from the credit card money his parents had given him.

"Very well, young man, You have exactly fifteen minutes to tell us what you have learned so far from your aunt and demonstrate the proper usage of what you have learned to convince us not to have you repeat next year," said Vice Principal Carol Murphy, who was shooting a look at the principal as he fumed by the table.

Frank looked at Mr. Murphy. He was a mousy sort of guy, and the kids had been thrown into fits of giggling when they learned his first name was Carol. Even his voice was a bit squeaky, but he had always been very kind to the students, and even shared their laugh about his name. He was the only other person at the school beside Miss Shellie that the students actually respected for being fair to them. Sometimes he would be a substitute teacher for the classes, not that they ever went over the lesson plan for that day, but rather he would open up a chapter from one of the mystery novels he loved to read and pass the book around to the students, asking them to read passages from it. It was the only time that Frank really enjoyed his lessons.

Frank shifted to one foot. "Not to be ungrateful, but I can't learn everything in a week. I did start my essay though, on what we did over the summer, and I brought that…"

He saw the vice principal nod as the principal sat down in his chair and crossed his arms. Frank saw the principal twist a signet ring in irritation as he opened up the portfolio that was clenched in his small hands. He walked to the podium and stood there for a second to catch his breath. He was glad he numbered the papers and that he had paper clipped them in batches.

"My Summer. By Frank Fletcher, Jr.

My summer started not like other kids' summers, but with learning that I would have to make up English class. Tutors and I don't get along, so my parents decided to send me north to stay with my Aunt Jessica who is a retired school teacher. I didn't want to be there. All the old people I knew were smelly and cranky. I thought my life was over, at least for the summer. My parents put me on the plane to go to where my aunt lives in Cabot Cove, Maine. I wore a tag about my neck on a lanyard and a bracelet so the people on the airline could tell who I was and where I was going. I rode in first class, and I sat next to a leprechaun. He was wearing a home spun woolen jacket he had sewn himself and his shirt had tattered lace on the cuffs. He had curly golden hair and hazel eyes that twinkled when he smiled. He asked me if I was after his gold. I told him no, because it would be difficult to exchange and it wouldn't help matters in the long run. The leprechaun's name was Willie Mac.

"Willie Mac didn't treat me like a little kid when the plane was tossed about with turbulence. Because of him, I decided not to run away, and to study hard this summer. Willie Mac wrote a book a long time ago that was published and it affected a lot of people's lives. A very bad man who knew Willie Mac's family from a long time ago decided to use the book to ruin Willie and his family's reputation. He stole a very famous sword from Willie's family and tried to use it to lure Willie into a deadly position, but what he was doing was found out by a few people and the police put the bad man in prison. There was a young girl who worked for a store that sold that same book and she was killed. I found out about it on a web message board, and at first the people on the board tried to solve it, but it was with my Aunt Jessica's help that the murderer was found out because he kept a necklace that she wore the night she died. Her parents wanted to give me money from the reward, but I couldn't take it, and told them to use it to make a memorial for their daughter.

"Willie Mac set up his home in Cabot Cove where the old shop used to be that was named after the book he had written. When I was done with my lessons for the day, my Aunt Jessica would let me go down there to watch Willie work on his weaving loom, and I learned how to card wool and to spin. It was the day that the letter came telling me about this meeting that my life started to get complicated. To understand the whys we have go to back in time first to 1881 Ireland - at Maigh Nuad." Frank took a breath then continued.

"The back storeroom of Maigh Nuad's pub held little interest for the regular crowd seeking their pints before returning home to their wives and girlfriends. Those who ventured back found their heads bumping against drying root crops and salted pork or having to squeeze in between slabs of tallow for candles. There were nine men who slipped unnoticed into the back room that had other things on their mind as they kept a careful watch on the door and the comings and goings of the crowds of the inn. When they had all found a place to be comfortable, their leaders, James Carey and Michael Kavanagh, sighed and pulled out a folded parchment from each of their pockets. They were thin vellum, so that when the first was laid over the second, a map showing the route needed was seen. Ether one of the papers found upon the men if they were captured meant nothing; together, they showed the homes of all the members of their organization, the Irish National Invincibles, also known as just the Invincibles.

"We weren't there to see it, but from what was found later we learned a few things about the people who were there and their habits, and from eye witness accounts of what happened. James stabbed his finger down on the map, smudging the place where his finger pointed to. 'Right, we've got word that the Permanent Under Secretary, Thomas Henry Burke, will be at the Viceregal Lodge next May attending the appointment of the new Chief Secretary. We will use this opportunity to dissuade Mr. Burke of his plans to continue his traitorous activities in parliament and resign with honor or face the consequences.'

"Douglas Furhdaham looked over the crowd of men in the small room. There were ways of taking control. James didn't have a clue, but he had a passion that made those around him listen. Power came in many forms, and most notably he who could control the people controlled the power. Some believed that money was power. James didn't have money, but he had charm, and the way to make the most common of men feel important. Douglas was glad he hadn't brought his eldest son Peter to the meeting. He knew Peter was impetuous and cunning, but prone to acting on impulse. What James was proposing was dangerous in itself. A man could be hanged for what they were speaking of.

"Fool that James was, he insisted that each man put down his mark upon a paper to swear that they would uphold all that was held righteous in the beliefs of the Invincibles. The others, believing that their names would be safe, did as much. It would be Douglas who would collect and secure the paper at the end of the evening, slipping it in his waistcoat pocket and making sure that another paper that was folded the same way was given to James instead as well as the originals of the maps. Months of planning had gone into this evening. It had nothing to do with the Invincibles. With all that would be happening soon, Douglas knew the paper with the names was the last thing James would be concerned about.

"Douglas felt secure in knowing his son Peter was married to the Widower Healer Razanur's daughter Fainwen, who had given him a granddaughter first, Essian, and another child on the way, which he hoped to be a boy to carry on his line. Healer Razanur was respected and wealthy, and the merging of the two powerful families from neighboring villages made a shift in power for the community. Generations before Healer Razanur's family had fought along side Brian Boru against the Vikings; from there, the families' wealth and status grew and when the children of Furhdaham and Razanur were married, the two families moved in together. By rights, it was Healer Razanur's estate that they had moved into, but with part of the dowry waved, it was decided that his new son-in-law's family would move into one half of the estate, and they would live in the other. There was a younger sister, Sellsír, just ten, and their youngest son Cónenardhon who was eight, whose futures needed to be considered. Peter was his eldest child, his pride and joy. His brother Ian was three years younger and had no belly for blood sport.

"Douglas watched without saying anything, watching the men who he knew he could trust and count on to stand beside him when it was time. There would be no peaceful discussion in the park that day. He had known what James was going to say, he just didn't know the time that it would happen. Douglas gave a quiet nod to Joe Brady and Tim Kelly, a signal they knew to wait until the others left, that he had something for them.

Knives. Surgical knives that he knew were sharp, small and could cut through flesh and bone in a heart beat. Douglas had found them on the washboard with other knives that he knew came from the healer's surgery. Two would not be missed. If they were caught or discovered the knives would lead back to the healer. Having a son-in-law and grandchildren by him was insurance that if something was discovered, it would go no further.

"'Tôl acharn – vengeance comes,' he had murmured to the men. They took the knives and slipped them into their coat pockets, being careful of the blades. He knew he would not see the men again. This would be the last meeting he would attend - his job was done.

If the end would come to it, the papers that he had removed from them unseen and substituted would be planted on someone else to divert suspicion. Thomas Henry Burke was to have married his sister years before. His political ambitions had broken her heart and earned the refusals of his father. When Burke did marry, his sister became reclusive, losing herself to wander the gardens in silence until an illness took her the following winter. The grief his parents endured because of Burke was enough for Douglas to challenge him, but his father would have nothing to do with that. He would lose a son if anything, for Burke was too powerful. Time and tide would bring the end to Burke.

"At 17:30 on Saturday, May 6, 1882 in Phoenix Park, Lord Frederick Cavendish and Thomas Henry Burke's evening walk was interrupted by the approach of Joe and Tim. Neither man was prepared for the assault that befell them swiftly. Their screams were overheard and when help arrived it was too late - both men had been brutally murdered, hacked to death by the short surgical knives provided to them by Douglas, who, at the moment the murders were occurring, was attending a wedding of friends with his daughter-in-law Fainwen and his son Peter. He had them leave the care of their child to a maid. The three younger children would also have supervision.

"When they arrived home the following day from the wedding the house was in a state of turmoil. Healer Razanur had been called out on an emergency that afternoon and didn't return until almost dawn. The maid had disappeared some time during the early evening. A short while later Essian had climbed from her crib and wandered the halls of the estate, getting outside somehow, and stumbled into the path of an on-coming carriage. Death was instantaneous. It was dawn that they found Sellsír's body hanging from the rafters of the attic. She had written a brief note saying her niece's death was all her fault and she could not live with the guilt. Fainwen collapsed at the news of her child's and her sister's deaths, and never recovered. Within a week she was buried along with her daughter and her sister. It was by chance or accident that Healer Razanur discovered the papers with the names on it, and understood who the Invincibles were. Fearing for his son's safety, Healer Razanur took Cónenardhon and some of their belongings and moved out of the estate, across the moors to begin a new life.

"The departure from the estate couldn't have come at a worse time for Douglas. He had been able to say that Joe and Tim had gathered the knives from Healer Razanur, and expected when the authorities came to be able to turn him over to them with the papers - but his location was uncertain. There was also the question of a sack of gemstones that had been given to Lord Frederick Cavendish, but the whereabouts were never determined after the death. When the authorities did arrive, Douglas was out and his son Peter was apprehended and thrown into prison. Embittered, Douglas became a recluse from his own kin leaving Ian to his own devices. Ian blamed Healer Razanur for his brothers' arrest and his father's growing dementia and vowed to the last drop of blood in his family to seek revenge against them. Over the generations that followed, much blood was spilled upon the earth. Ian had carved his family a new crest, and a new motto 'Tôl acharn Annan e' - with time Vengeance comes."

Frank looked up at the creak of the chairs and saw that several of the school board members and teachers were wrapped up in his story. He glanced at the clock and adjusted his glasses. What he had to say was going to take longer than 15 minutes. Not that he was stalling for time, but he knew it would take a while for his aunt and the others to find him, and he wanted to be sure they were there when he finished because he knew there would be some pressing questions by the time he was done. There was something else that he noticed about the principal of the school, something that made him swallow - and then lowering his head he continued to read from his report as his mind went back over the last week's events.,


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Frank looked up at the creak of the chairs and saw that several of the school board members and teachers were wrapped up in his story. He glanced at the clock and adjusted his glasses. What he had to say was going to take longer than 15 minutes. Not that he was stalling for time, but he knew it would take a while for his aunt and the others to find him, and he wanted to be sure they were there when he finished because he knew there would be some pressing questions by the time he was done. There was something else that he noticed about the principal of the school, something that made him swallow - and then lowering his head he continued to read from his report as his mind went back over the last week's events.,

Frank Fletcher, Jr. looked up over his glasses from the English book he was working from and saw his Great Aunt Jessica come in from the mail box with slower steps than he had seen before. "Aunt Jessica? Is something wrong?" he asked, putting his pencil down on the kitchen table. He heard it roll against the dozen other pencils that had been provided for him by Jessica so that he wouldn't have any excuse to not have one precisely sharpened to the correct point.

She looked up at him with an envelope in her hands. Monday's mail was always a bit more than the rest of the week. "It's from your school. Your parents gave them this address if they needed to get in touch with you … It seems they want to give you a progress evaluation at the end of this week - to see how your summer schooling is coming. You have a meeting with them at 10:50 am on Friday. It means a trip back to your school Thursday night and a return trip back here on Friday afternoon. Looks like we will be taking a road trip in three days," she said to him with a smile.

Startled, Frank put the book down, sending one of the long number 2 pencils to the floor. He wasn't expecting to go back so soon, and had been looking forward to not having to deal with the teachers at his school for the entire summer.

"You don't drive. How are we going to get there?" he asked.

"We can take the bus. I have the schedule around here somewhere. There should be one that will do the trip in about six hours, if memory serves me correctly, but it will mean getting the bus at midnight and arriving at six am on Friday. Then it's a cross town bus from there, which should get us to the school about 10 am. They would like you to write an essay to be read on what you have been doing this summer." She saw a far away look of sadness in his eyes.

"Okay," he said with a sigh. "I can do that, but if you think about it, I've only been here a week! What do they expect me to learn in that time?"

Jessica ruffled his hair. "Seems to me you've had an active summer already."

Now that Frank could focus properly on the letters, and with Jessica's patience at explaining how sentences were constructed, English had become less of a monster to him. An eleven year old didn't care if a preposition was modified or a participial dangled. Jessica had outlined what he needed to learn each day, and while English lessons had brought him no joy, he had found she wasn't beating him over the head with what he needed to know. He redoubled his efforts with trying to understand things. It wasn't that he was looking for brownie points to make his great aunt happy, it - it was just something that was easier to do when she was helping him understand the basic concepts. Sometimes the stuff was so miserable to deal with he needed to get away from it, even if only to go as far as the rose garden and sit among the flowers until he could compose his emotions.

Frank was glad, though, that Willie Mac understood what he was going through and had shed light on ways he could understand his lessons. Willie had found him sitting in the rose garden with his arms crossed and in tears after storming out of the kitchen where he had been so frustrated with the amount of work they expected of him. Willie had sat down beside him and offered him a clean corner of a handkerchief.

"I won't ever understand this - I am a stupid lame ass idiot," he had sniffled.

Willie put his arm around Frank's shoulder. "Ah, no you're na, lad. English is a most peculiar language. It's not set up like most other languages. In English, for example, if you had had enough of something, you say 'I've had enough.' But in another language, it is said, 'Stuffed is my bag,' referring to the bag that your stomach is, like you have had a full meal. The German language is much more direct, and may read something like 'Pouch full over mine is.' One may be seen as saying you are full of eating, and the other means you've had it up to here," he said, indicating over his head with his hand.

Frank giggled, then became more serious. "I guess there is a lot to learn."

Willie Mac nodded. "Best you spend your time, as your money, wisely and with great interest. It's what my Gram always says. Off you go now, to your studies."

Frank nodded and returned to the kitchen. For a moment he stood by the sink getting a glass of water to delay his studies. He saw Taylor come out of the house, over to where Willie was in the garden, and he gave her a kiss on her hand. There was only really half a head difference between their heights. He watched as they walked with Sydney on the leash down the street to the shop to go to work. This thing about kissing a girl: except for the kisses he got from his parents tucking him in, he just didn't think he could get used to it.

Hand in hand Taylor and Willie Mac walked down the street. Unpacking had been a bit delayed the first day when his things arrived. In the midst of his sorrow and exhaustion of the day that Jessica had asked for his help with the pendent, Taylor had been the bright spot. Her impulsive kiss to his lips had shocked him and gave him a stirring in his heart that was now unbridled as a wild horse. Being kissed by her had been shocking, at first, but it was the shock that his heart needed to tell him all was right with the world with her at his side. The neighbors hadn't given a second thought to him staying there, or that she spent time with him at the shop. Not that it was a proper shop. They didn't sell anything. It was more of a learning center. With Tipper's help he had found some sheep farmers who were willing to sell him the raw wool, and it was up to him to sheer the sheep and to take it away to the shop where he had his woolies in one room.

Once the crates were unpacked, those who did venture in saw more of a working museum than a storefront. Along the wall that had held the register at one time was the giant loom that could weave material 200 inches across. In another corner were the spinning wheel and cedar boxes that held the carded wool. There were other boxes that herbs were dried in, and containers that held the natural dyes. In the back was a vegetable garden, and had he been allowed, he would have had a nanny goat for milk. It wasn't anything special that he had. It was just what a typical home would be like. Upstairs, roped off, was the bedroom set, not that the bed was slept in now, but he did re-insulate the building. It took three days to bring it up to wiring code, and now they were working on the roof.

They also had a smaller loom, and an area for lace making. When Frank had seen it, he stood enthralled as Willies hands worked the pure white wool into a thin thread and wrapped it onto the spindle to be transferred later to the shuttlecock for weaving. He suddenly understood where Willie's coat had come from. The material on the bolt was different though - even though it was wool, it was the most delicate material he had ever seen. When Jessica had given him a choice of what he wanted to do for the afternoon, his answer was to go down to the shop and watch what was going on. It would take a few days to get the wool spun then transferred on to the loom and the shuttlecocks before the weaving could begin, but Frank found it a fascinating endeavor.

After lunch Jessica had given Frank some "time off for good behavior." She saw he was clearly worried regarding the upcoming trip to the school, and wanted him to relax.

"What would you like to do? I have several calls to make to my publisher, and I think you have had enough for today, don't you?" she asked, picking up the short pencil that rested on top of the phone to take conformations numbers down for their bus ticket reservations. She had work on her latest book she needed to do herself. While she knew she didn't have to provide supervision for him twenty-four hours a day, she also knew that in Cabot Cove there were very few places except the docks that he could get into trouble. She saw him look over his shoulder to Taylor's house and knew where he wanted to go. Willie Mac had informed Jessica that Frank was welcome there any time, and she would rather see him there than behind the desk at the computer.

"All right. But be home for dinner," she said smiling. He gathered up the pencils on the table and his books and hurried to his room to put them away. Jessica watched him from an upper window as he hurried down the street and held her breath until he was safely inside the shop. No matter how old they were, parents always worried. She sighed, then went down to the kitchen and picked up the pencil that had fallen to the floor. Groaning, she straightened up. She knew for sure a storm was coming by the way her back stiffened up. Placing it on the table she went into her study and sank down into the chair with her notepad on her lap.

There was a lot of research and thinking she had to do before she started to write. "Tea would be nice," she thought, picking up her notepad pencil from the side table and placing it on top of the phone. It almost slipped from where it rested. Jessica reminded herself to get a proper pencil for phone notes before going into the kitchen to put the kettle on. While the water heated, she dialed the bus station and made the reservations for the trip. She hated to go so late at night, but it was the only bus that would go nearest to where they had to be in time for the review.

The afternoon was unseasonably sweltering as thick thunderheads rolled across the cove. Taylor looked out the door as she sipped a cup of tea that Willie Mac had made for her. She found it soothing. Tipper had informed her that Anthony was still in town. He had brought the parents of the girl who had died to meet Frank, Jr. and to speak with him, and after seeing them off, had stayed at the Hill House gathering further information regarding Kent Fordham and Nightshade. Kent was facing the death penalty for his involvement in several murders and for conspiracy to commit murder. His lawyers were appealing the case, though this would be the last appeal that they would be given in a week's time. Taylor had never needed to testify. Mort had, and they took depositions from Jessica and Tipper. Taylor knew it would be a matter of time before he would want to speak with her about something. Anything. She didn't know if she could handle walking away from him in person. Staying away from him was easier.

Since Willie had been staying with her since she had accepted his decision on what foods she should be eating and what teas and juices she should have, she had felt better. He would go on about the vitamins and minerals in what she was consuming, and what they did - but she simply had no idea what they were all for or how an elemental vitamin was different than the one that you got at the super market. She just felt better, and she trusted him. She looked back to where Willie Mac was showing Frank how to card wool. A car pulled into the upper lot - she could tell it was a rental from the tags on the rear view mirror. Sydney lifted her head and looked in the direction of the car. Her tail thumped a few times. She looked at Taylor and gave a soft whine.

"Stay," Taylor said gently. Sydney laid her head back down, but her tail increased its wagging as the person who got out of the car began to come down the hill. "I can do this," thought Taylor, taking another sip of tea. Taylor studied Anthony as he walked closer - he had aged. He looked tired, and old. His hair had become completely gray and there was a haggard look in his eyes as if he had spent the last few years not sleeping. Taylor took a sip of the tea and watched him come up on to the porch from the far end. She lowered the mug and set it on the small table that held the door open. He looked around and noticed the absence of the sign that said Nightshade. The place was cleaned, and it smelled healthy. Wholesome. He heard the sound of Frank's laughter, and Willie Mac's gentle voice telling him about how wool gatherers always had the softest hands. Looking in he saw the looms, and the spinning wheel. He looked at Taylor, who was still leaning against the doorframe with Sydney at her feet.

"You look beautiful. How long has it been?" he began simply.

"Too long. I stopped waiting to live my life, Anthony. One year became two, then four. I had to be important to me. I had to matter in order to survive. I had to have someone who cares about me - enough to be there when I need them. Tipper has been, as has Seth, and Jessica, and all the people here. I came to this town, and they accepted me, supported me and cared for me. They were here for me when you chose not to be, when you decided to go on with your life, shabby sex and all."

"Do I deserve that - condemnation from you?" he asked mildly.

"Do you?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

He raised his hands in surrender. "I don't know… maybe. It's taken me a while to realize why you didn't come back to LA. And longer to realize why I didn't come to live here. I wouldn't know how to act, or what to do here. I was afraid of what I might become if I left what I had known behind. I was afraid of every perp that would escape, every killer who would go free if I walked away, and it cost me everything that was important in my life. You." He stepped forward with the intention of delivering a kiss to her lips.

She pushed him back. "I wasn't bloody well important enough for you if it took you four years to find your way back here!"

"Maybe if you would have given me a bit of an incentive I would have had a reason to come sooner!" he snapped. He realized it was the wrong thing to say the moment he said it. He saw the smoldering fury begin to build in her eyes.

"Incentive?" she began, then stopped as she felt a light touch to her leg. It was Sydney, standing up on her hind legs and whining softly with concern. She bent down and picked up the small dog before gathering her tea mug and striding into the shop leaving him on the porch. He watched as she went up the steps to the upstairs and heard a sob as the door closed behind her.

Anthony saw Frank Jr. look at the man who had been beside him. Willie said "Damnú air," then said to Frank, "Mind the shop," before taking the steps two at a time. There was a soft knock, then the sound of the door opening and closing. Anthony walked into the shop and looked around. It was far different than he would have expected. Sighing, he picked up her forgotten cup and took a sip, almost spitting it out as soon as he had it in his mouth.

"What is this stuff?" he asked Frank.

"Tea," said Frank with a measure of caution. He knew this man was a district attorney, and that his Aunt Jessica knew and liked him, and that he had brought the girl's parents to Cabot Cove to meet him, which was awkward in its own way. Frank just wasn't sure what this man's angle was regarding Taylor.

Anthony looked up at where the rooms were, then back at Frank. "Is he good to her?" he asked softly as he walked to where the tea pot was. He saw that it was almost empty. He pulled out the old filter and by habit of working long hours at the courthouse, put in a new filter and measured some tea into it before tipping the cold tea out of the pot and getting water in the kitchen to place in the reservoir. Unseen to Frank, Anthony took a sample of the tea in a fold of a second coffee filter and palmed it into his hand until he had the chance to slip it into his pocket.

Frank felt strangely grown up as he regarded the tall, well-dressed man before him performing the simple task of making tea.

"You still love her… why did you wait so long, and if I wasn't here as a reason to come to Cabot Cove, would you have come back?"

'In time, if we needed depositions, or when I knew it was over. I wanted her to be where I knew she was safe. If I kept coming back here, they would have found her - but it became easier to love the dream, I suppose."

Frank looked up at the room where the door was still closed.

"If they got married, would you be happy for her? For them? Even if it broke your heart to let her go, would you let her be happy?" asked Frank, knowing that it was an impossible question for Anthony to answer at this time.

Anthony used the moment that Frank's eyes were off of him to slip the tea packet into his coat pocket. He knew the lab in Portland could give him the answers that he needed, a reason that he would need to protect her. He realized even if he did find something and rushed in to protect her that she wouldn't be grateful, or want him to protect her. He had come into her life rather unexpectedly. She was the one to make all of the plans, do all of the caring and he was the one who allowed it.

"I love her," Anthony said at last. Frank shot him a look. The boy and man regarded each other before Frank said evenly,

"Then be an adult about it. Let her be happy, without the guilt that you bring. She wants you to be happy too. But it doesn't include her in the bargain," Frank said, waving his hand in the direction of the room.

Anthony started in the direction of the stairs when his cell phone rang. He stopped, and then looked at it. His shoulders fell as he read the text message. "I have to go…"

Frank rolled his eyes and gave him a look that said if he went now, he shouldn't come back. Anthony sighed, took the steps two at a time, and coming to the door he knocked once, then entered.

She was on the bed, and she had been crying. Willie Mac was sitting on the bed holding her hands speaking to her in a gentle voice. Anthony could see that he was doing his best to understand. Both looked at Anthony as he stood in the door.

"I'm sorry…. I love you and I was wrong to expect things not to change or not to take steps to work on our relationship. I will always love you…and with that, I want what is best, and what will make you the happiest. I would like us to remain friends…"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Anthony crossed the room, and bending over gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead, then nodding to both of them strode out of the room and down the steps. They heard the crunch of gravel as he left the porch and made his way back up the hill to where his car was parked. Getting in, he closed his eyes for a moment before putting the tea in a small evidence bag and lying on the seat beside him. He backed his car up and returned back to the Hill House Bed & Breakfast. Parking his car in the front lot he hurried past Curtis the manager on duty to take the steps two at a time to get his ID and a map of the area. Laying it out on the bed he regarded it. There were lines but few route numbers and he had to know about construction. He went down to where Curtis was pouring himself his third cup of coffee that day.

"Excuse me… I thought I overheard that the coastline route was closed due to construction - is there a better way of getting to Portland than that?" he asked.

Curtis looked over his coffee cup and with a green marker drew an alternative route on the map. Anthony thanked him and strode out to his car. For a moment, Curtis watched Anthony pull out and then wait in the driveway until the way was clear to pull onto the road. Curtis leaned back, twisting his signet ring on his hand. He smiled then picking up the newspaper he swatted a particularly persistent bot fly.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

"_Excuse me… I thought I overheard that the coastline route was closed due to construction - is there a better way of getting to Portland than that?" he asked._

_Curtis looked over his coffee cup and with a green marker drew an alternative route on the map. Anthony thanked him and strode out to his car. For a moment, Curtis watched Anthony pull out and then wait in the driveway until the way was clear to pull onto the road. Curtis leaned back, twisting his signet ring on his hand. He smiled then picking up the newspaper he swatted a particularly persistent bot fly._

Anthony tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove the 37 miles to the Portland courthouse where he knew their criminology department would be able to analyze what he had now resting on the seat in an evidence bag. Technology was a wonderful thing. Spectral analysis of the composite elements would take perhaps a matter of moments, or days, but it would be precise. He had called half way there, got directions and took the steps into the building three at a time. There was no trust in his heart anymore for the actions of others when it came to those he loved

It took five minutes for the water to boil, and then a small sample of the tea was run through an infuser before going to the centrifuge and to be analyzed further. The results were not what Anthony expected.

"It's not a commercial blend. Dunno if the FDA would approve it for sale."

"It's that bad for you?" Anthony asked leaning against the counter.

The tech shook his head. "No, its – not a simple compound like regular tea is. It has enzyme reactions and antioxidants that would help build up a person's health very quickly, like those energy drinks they are pushing on kids? But this one's custom made for an individual's health needs. Like what you would get at an apothecary's shop."

"What if someone else drank it?" Anthony pushed, hoping in a perverse way for something to nail Willie for.

"It may not taste very good to them. It wouldn't hurt them, but the body wouldn't accept every benefit that it had. This one, if your heart wasn't bad, wouldn't put anything into your body that it didn't need. It also has something in here that would help boost the immune system, T cell production, and make red blood cells stronger - and that's where the FDA wouldn't approve of it. This stuff does things they don't even know how to do, heal specific medical problems at the source."

"Even if a condition would be considered terminal?" pressed Anthony

The tech regarded Anthony. "Look, I don't know what you're hoping for, but this stuff isn't dangerous to the person that it was made for, nor would it be harmful for long term use. And if someone else drank it, it wouldn't harm them ether, it just wouldn't help them. If it's any consideration, the person who made this would be welcome in any alternative medicine circle. Consider what this knowledge could do to help AIDS or cancer patients if all they needed to do to feel better and healthier was to drink tea that was designed especially for their illness. This, (he pointed to the tea sample) is a labor of love."

A distant rumble of thunder came through the open window of the shop later that afternoon. "The storm is coming in soon. We should close up here and get home, the windows are open there…" said Willie Mac, crossing over to release the catch that held the window up. He locked it and turned to see her wiping fresh tears away. He sat beside her and took her hands in his.

"Hey lass, what's troubling ye?" She shrugged, not being able to put into words what she felt. He took her into his arms and just held her awhile before kissing her gently. Drying her tears he held out his hand to her and helped her off the chair, slipping her shoes on her feet. It took a minute to make everything secure, and to be sure things were unplugged and locked up before they walked up the hill and across the flats to where their house was.

Taylor stopped for a moment to catch her breath. Large drops of rain had begun to fall as she looked over the cove where the storm was flashing brilliant shades of green and purple above the far side of the shore. "Best to get the hurricane lamps out tonight, Frank; Jessica has them in the basement - she will tell you where."

Frank nodded, then going to Taylor he gave her an unexpected hug before going into Jessica's home.

The storm brought an early night with heavy rains and gusting winds. Taylor watched as Willie Mac paced in the living room rather than settle on the sofa to read by the flickering lamp light. The power had gone out shortly after the rains had started. Sydney lifted her head as the Tap Tap Tap of small hail stones began to fall against the window pane. Knowing she wasn't going to be able to concentrate with him pacing, she put the book aside and stood up. "It's been a long day."

Willie Mac stopped pacing. He turned and looked at her and she saw something in his eyes. Concern. Sadness. Fear. She walked up to him "Willie? What is it? What's wrong?

He sighed and shook his head. "Nothing." It was at that moment a sharp crack of lightning rattled the windows. Willie closed his eyes and jerked involuntarily.

She walked over to him and took him by the hand. "Come on… let's go to bed," she said simply. He resisted her gentle tug towards the steps.

"Damnú air I am na a child to be trundled off to bed and told when to go to sleep or hid behind their mother's skirts at every rattle of the wind. Tis only just 5 pm," he said a bit more crossly than he meant to.

She held the lamp under her chin, just far enough away so the hot air wouldn't harm her. It illuminated her face in an eerie cast of yellow.

"Who said anything about sleep? I'm up for some ghost stories by lamplight!" she said, wiggling her eyebrows. She turned around and started up the steps while saying, "It was a Dark and Stormy Night … The rain and wind lashed the branches in a frightful display of the elements. The skies were split by earth-shattering blasts of fierce lightning and the booming thunder that rattled the depths of the ancient willow that was once a terrible wizard who had cursed the small seaside cove…" Her voice faded off upstairs. Willie was left alone in the dark. For a moment he stood, considering lighting another lamp, but a sudden bolt of lightning that struck nearby caused him to jump with alarm and scurry up the steps.

He saw the lamp light coming from the far side of Taylor's room. Sydney was curled up at the foot of the bed and lifting her head gave him a curious glance. As he stepped inside of the room she stepped out from the unseen edge of the door and said in a sudden puff of air, "BOO!"

Willie gave a high girlish scream of fear and jumped straight up and stumbled back onto his back side. Taylor gasped, her hands covering her mouth to hide her wide grin. She knew she really shouldn't have done that - but she couldn't resist. His face looked stricken.

She stepped up to him and offered her hand to help him up off of the floor. He took it, and it guided him up to his feet. "I suppose you think stopping my heart like that would be funny?" he said still a bit peevishly. She saw he was trembling. She guided him into her bedroom and made him sit on the bedside.

"I didn't know you would fall backwards. I am sorry. Please forgive me? And can you tell me what is going on? What's wrong? Please don't say 'nothing,' because something is making you shake like a leaf. It's not the storm, is it?"

Another bolt struck near by. Willie closed his eyes and hugged himself. "Nae, na the storm's but memories of what the sounds were when I was a younger lad," he said softly. "There is so much to freedom that is not understood. So much for being able to spend the night in your own home an' na fear bottle bombs being tossed through the window to burn your family while they sleep. Or pipe bombs made with nails and glass that they throw into the primary schools during playtime outside. Spend a week in Belfast, and you will age ten years. Even if the truce was signed years ago, it's still na safe. You don't know how hard it is nae to hide under the steps when the sirens scream across the night. How many times the underground stations were bombed. If you leave your car parked in the wrong area of London by accident, that the Met will come an' strip it apart looking for things, an' tow it away without so much as a by-your-leave. Or to have Sunday dinner an' they fly over your home with jets so low tha' you can wave to the pilots an' they are bombing another country because they've been told to. People live with tha' every day, and they continue to live tha' way because they don't know any other way. They canna show weakness or fear on the outside. I know tha' it's just the storm, I know it may seem childish. But I canna help what I feel."

Taylor went to the other side of the bed and crawled across the top of it to be behind him. She saw his shoulders slump at another lightning strike as she placed her hand on his shoulder. "Come here," she said, softly patting the pillow on the side of the bed where he sat. He gave her a look.

"What are ye expecting of me Lass?" he asked in a soft voice, not trusting what he was feeling in his heart. He remembered their first kiss - he had seen stars, not having ever been kissed like that by a woman before.

"Are you afraid of what I may do?" she asked, grinning slightly as she lay back on the pillow.

"Well, yes. A lad has to stay respectable or he'd never find any hope of being made an honest fellow, an' you have been a bit forward in the past. I'm just a wee bit concerned for my virtue," he said in a serious voice.

"Ah… Well, would it help if I promised not to take advantage of you tonight? I can't promise that for tomorrow, but just for tonight, would that ease your mind?" she asked.

She saw him take a breath, and very seriously regard her. "Your na concerned that I may have my way of you then?" he inquired as he viewed her face by the lamp light. Her hand went to his and tugged him back onto the bed before blowing out the lamp.

"Willie Mac, I trust you with my life ... and my heart. I am quite safe tonight, as are you."

It was only a heart beat later that a lightning bolt hit across the street. Willie Mac cried out loud and covered his head with his hands before finding himself in Taylor's arms against her chest as he shivered. It was going to be a long night.

Frank sat at the window watching the storm swirl leaves and small branches in the air, the dark town illuminated by the brilliant flashes of lightning.

"Whoa! Wicked!" he exclaimed as the tree three houses over was hit with lightning, splitting off the top section in the blast. The pelting rain extinguished the fire that scorched the leaves and branches as the splintered and smoldering wood tumbled to the ground.

At the rate the tree branches were coming down in the wind and the lightning strikes it was quite possible, Jessica had informed him that they would be with out power for several hours. He didn't need to be reminded not to open the refrigerator door. If the power remained out long enough for the food to defrost in the freezer they would have to use the barbeque to cook it up or to find some other way of preserving it. The hurricane lamp flickered, casting an eerie glow of moving shadows about the room Frank heard Jessica's footsteps come to the door of the room. She knew her way around the house in the dark.

"Aunt Jessica, how come the storms where I live aren't as cool as this? It's like the special effects you see in the movies! SMACKCRACK BOOMS! And the tree just goes WHOOAPHAAHSS and it blows apart! And how come your sunsets are different - two seconds and the sun is either up, or down!" he said waving his hands mimicking the sun against the land then waited for an answer from her.

"There isn't as much dust or smog in the air as the city you live in, and the dust bends the light rays making it seem like its longer. As for the storms, even the weather man can't always explain them. There seems to be a line though that keeps some storms where they are, and when another one comes in the opposite direction along that line, the 'special effects,' as you call them, can be quite spectacular. It's not safe, though, being by the window with things flying about out there. If you're interested, there is some apple pie with sharp cheddar cheese in the kitchen to be sampled…"

Frank gave her a look. "That's my dad's favorite… and mine too… how did you know?" he asked, getting up from where he sat to follow her into the kitchen as he carefully carried the lamp.

"Just a hunch!" she laughed, allowing him to go ahead of her to put the lamp on the table along side the other one. He moved the chair back from the table for her and went to the drawers by the sink to get a fork for both of them and had turned just as she was stepping down into the kitchen. Neither of them saw the pencil stub that had rolled to the center of the floor when he moved the chair out.

"AUNT JESSICA!" Frank yelled as he saw her fall backward in slow motion. He tried to reach her hand, to stop her from falling. He felt her fingertips slip from his grasp as she tumbled backwards. Her breath was driven from her body as she impacted on the kitchen floor. "AUNT JESSICA!"


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

_If you're interested, there is some apple pie with sharp cheddar cheese in the kitchen to be sampled…"_

_Frank gave her a look. "That's my dad's favorite… and mine too… how did you know?" he asked, getting up from where he sat to follow her into the kitchen as he carefully carried the lamp._

"_Just a hunch!" she laughed, allowing him to go ahead of her to put the lamp on the table along side the other one. He moved the chair back from the table for her and went to the drawers by the sink to get a fork for both of them and had turned just as she was stepping down into the kitchen. Neither of them saw the pencil stub that had rolled to the center of the floor when he moved the chair out. _

"_AUNT JESSICA!" Frank yelled as he saw her fall backward in slow motion. He tried to reach her hand, to stop her from falling. He felt her fingertips slip from his grasp as she tumbled backwards. Her breath was driven from her body as she impacted on the kitchen floor. "AUNT JESSICA!" _

Sydney's head lifted up off of the bottom of the bed where she had nestled between their legs. Taylor, sensing her movement, sat up, jarring Willie's head from her chest as she did. He looked at her puzzled. "What is it?" he asked, seeing the concern on her face. She watched as Sydney jumped off the bed and started for the door, then paused and looked back at her and whined softly.

"Something's wrong," she said tossing the coverlet back and swinging her legs over the side of the bed to jam her feet into her shoes.

Willie let out a slow breath of air as he put his shoes on and followed her down the steps. He saw her hand close over her cell phone and her keys as she went through the kitchen to the back door, following Sydney's lead Willie saw a brilliant flash of lightning, then crossing himself followed her out the back and closed and locked the door behind him. She was hurrying across the garden at Jessica's house and onto the back porch where she was knocking when he caught up to her. Both of them could see the twin lamps on the table, but everything else was in shadow. Willie held back a shriek as Frank popped up out of the shadows, opened the door and fell sobbing into Taylor's arms.

"It's Aunt Jessica, she fell, I couldn't stop her from going down, she's not awake!" Willie went past the two of them and took a lamp down to the floor level beside Jessica. His hand went to her throat, checking for her pulse. "She's alive."

Taylor pulled out her cell phone and dialed the emergency dispatch. She held Frank in her arms as he sobbed quietly. Sydney came over to them after investigating the floor for crumbs and had the stub of the pencil in her mouth. She let it go in Taylor's hand. Nether of them saw Frank see the broken stub and pale as Taylor placed it on the table behind them.

Mort strode across the back of Jessica's house as the ambulance personnel wheeled the gurney that had her into the back of the ambulance Willie was beside the gurney as well speaking to the paramedics. One of them nodded. Willie got into the back of the ambulance with one of the paramedics. Mort could see Willie's worried expression as the door closed. He went into the house and saw Frank being rocked by Taylor, who was doing her best to comfort the young boy.

"Come on. I'll take you to the hospital," he said gently. Mort picked up the key to lock up the house and blew out both lamps making sure they were out before holding the door for them. Taylor scooped up Sydney in her arms. Mort was about to say something regarding the dog would never be allowed into the hospital until he remembered that Sydney was a working dog. The ambulance swayed in the heavy winds and Mort prayed that it would not over turn. Frank still hadn't said anything; he only clung to Taylor, his face grief stricken. It was a 20 minute ride to the hospital, and when they arrived Mort saw the hospital had a line of ambulances that were dropping patients off as fast as they could. He parked the car and looked at Taylor. "I'm going to see to crowd control. Go on in and I will be with you in a bit." He turned to one of the hospital security people.

"What happened?" Taylor heard a snatch regarding a pile up due to a tractor trailer overturning that had been coming back from Portland. Details were sketchy but someone had said that the tractor trailer swerved into a car, the end of the trailer had hit another car.

Mort made sure that they understood that Jessica was a head/ spine trauma patient and with Willie at her side she was whisked in the doors and into an exam room ahead of some of the others.

"I think there is a hot cocoa machine over here," Taylor said, leading him into the waiting room. The night had been warm, but the wind and rain, and shock, had chilled both of them to the bone. She knew something else was bothering Frank. It took a while before he sniffed and said softly, "It's all my fault"

"What is?" she asked, curious.

He sat up and looked at her. "My pencil must have fallen. She slipped on the pencil. Aunt Jessica got hurt and it's all my fault."

"Oh… that's a lot of guilt to be carrying around, isn't it? I don't know of a day that Jessica doesn't sweep her floor at least four times. Do you think it's likely she would have missed the pencil every time?" She saw him shrug.

"There is always the first time," he said softly.

Taylor placed her hands on either side of his shoulders. "Listen to me. Even if you had accidentally left an entire box of pencils on the floor and she fell on them she wouldn't blame you or hold it over you. It's not saying that you don't have to be responsible for picking up after yourself, but Jess wouldn't want you to be upset if it was an accident."

"But if she is in the hospital, who is going to take care of me, and my lessons? And they want me to be at the school next Thursday to be evaluated on what I've learned so far, and Mum and Dad can't come back from where they are working just because I bogeyed things up again."

"Until Jessica is out of the hospital, you can stay with Willie and me. Willie can help you with your English as well. He went to a university that made sure everyone going through has a mastery of the English language," said Taylor softly.

"Except when he hits his thumb with a hammer?" Frank asked, finally calming a bit. The loom had given Willie particular difficulties - there had been a bit of warping until the wood dried and the hammer had hit his thumb in the same spot that he had hit it when removing the Nightshade sign. The string of words that came from his mouth was not any that those in the neighborhood recognized - but from the tone, everyone knew what they meant.

"Well, damnú air don't go repeating that," was all Willie had said, seeing their mouths open from shock

The metal shackles felt cold against Kent Fordham's wrists and ankles as he was transported to the Orange County courthouse for his appeal. He knew what the outcome would be. His lawyer had informed him he had a snowball's chance of having them rescind the order for his execution. He should have been more worried, his lawyer argued. Kent wasn't. He had every confidence today would be his last day in prison. He sat back, watching the town from the window of the transport, trying to think back on what one moment had caused his plans to collapse so. "Ruin them. Ruin them all!" his father had impressed on his brother and him from the time they were old enough to remember what their grandfather Ian would go on about before he died. His older brother had been torn from the house in the middle of the night and thrown in prison for something that he didn't do, and he spoke of the grief that his great-grand father had been through in the years to follow. The hatred that welled in his heart.

There were many ways to destroy a man, and his family. As young as they were, Grandfather Ian drew out a dagger and made a blood oath for his brother Stephen and him to use every means possible to utterly destroy the Razanur line, in such a way that it would bring them shame and dishonor. Stephen had failed. At first, it seemed as if he had been successful - but his personal ambitions clouded his judgment, and had he continued, he would have compromised the family. His father had sent Kent to America at the same time Stephen had begun his lessons with the healer Razanur. He had been told to distance himself from his family, to find a way to get close to them …

It was ironic that when Willie Mac wrote the book, he had no real idea of what was going on. It wasn't about the drugs, or the control of people that his brother was trying to accomplish. It was more primitive. Revenge. Kent had resisted the urge to use the sword against the old woman, lop off her head - but there would be no revenge in that, no sweet taste to linger while they realized that there wasn't any way they could get back the sword that they were so proud of. It was one of the few things that his grandfather remembered they had taken with them when they had left - something his great grandfather stormed about the estate looking for. He couldn't say they had stolen it because it did belong to the Razanurs and his words "he who holds the sword holds the land" made no sense to any of them. Kent wanted them to feel despair - to have the lingering horror of what they had lost.

Kent knew that by leaving the sword in public display he could draw Willie Mac out to a land that had little tolerance for a stranger. Kent had been sent to build an army of those loyal to serving for glory - for the greater good. Those who would follow without question or fail - the sheep. There were also wolves within his flock. Those who were ruthless, those who understood what they thought was his plan. He had never told people what the plan really was. They were blind enough to believe that in the empire that he was building they would have a place to oversee others. That they would share in the glory and profits to follow. They had wanted to have one of their own to represent him, and he had said no. The organization had to stay out of the courtroom for now. While they did have connections within the system, they would have to wait until later, until the last moment to act so as not to arouse suspicion.

Stephen's death had been unavoidable. There were sacrifices that had to be made for the greater good. Some costs were great to bear, but worth more than gold, or silver. He wanted to laugh. What they thought they knew was only a small part of reality, and there would be some secrets that he would take to his grave.

Sutton House had become a liability, and a monster unto its own. Kent had found himself losing control over his people, his wolves in the flock of sheep that came into the stores looking for the way - the gathering - the mystical moment that would bring an end to evil. It was almost laughable to see his family crest worn as a badge of honor on total strangers, on t-shirts and mugs and mouse pads. They would gaze at it every day and not have a clue that they were helping him with his vengeance, or how it helped build his own empire. He knew Willie Mac would come after the sword. He knew the letter of the law would allow him to keep possession of the sword. Or, so he had thought. One of his wolves had passed word that all that was in the shops had been returned to Sutton House, minus the sword and the scabbard. When Sutton House had questioned where the sword was and where the scabbard was, they had been informed that the scabbard had been kept in customs and forgotten because of the leather content, and it would cost more to see it through the customs procedure than what they felt it was worth. Never having been in the shop, it was not part of the property to be returned. The sword, on the other hand, was being held by the authorities because it had been used as a weapon, and no power in the United States would release it except to its rightful owner. The authorities did not recognize the publishing house to be the sole owner of the sword as they had no purchase record for it.

Kent's eyes narrowed. He knew exactly who held the sword, and why he wouldn't give it up. It was a small matter. It was just a sword, and it would still draw Willie Mac to it, and lull him into complacency. His wolves had informed him that the scabbard had been collected by Willie Mac when he was in L.A., and they begged to finish him off, there and then. Kent had refused. It was not for them to bring him down. It had to be by Kent's hand. He knew where the sword was, and that Willie could not go home. Not while Kent was still alive. Not while there was unfinished business. Willie Mac was soft. As a healer, he could not take a life, even if the blood codes demanded it. He did have to give Willie Mac credit. Just as Kent had used the sword to draw Willie out of the protection of his community, Willie was now using the storefront as a battle ground, saying to Kent and his followers "I am here, come and let's finish this."

The hearing was predictable. Death within the month. Kent Fordham gazed about the room of unsympathetic people. He stood with dignity, a smirk on his face as the judge asked if he had anything to add to the court record.

"Tôl acharn Annan e Ah Annan, Acharn." Kent saw one of the officers by the door shift and look at him. There was just a perceptible nod. The words that he had spoken would set his wolves free. It was time. He slid into the back of the police cruiser and saw the signet ring on the officer's hand as he turned the wheel. He looked to the police officer who slid beside him in the back. The same brief nod was exchanged. Kent settled back into his seat and smiled.

Frank stood in the doorway looking in at Jessica in her hospital bed. He saw the wires and the monitor and the IV tube and how translucent she looked under the covers. He moved across the room and kicked off his shoes. The hospital people were busy with everything else, and Taylor was speaking to Seth in the hallway. Frank carefully got onto the bed and lay down beside Jessica, his head resting on her shoulder. He watched her breath for a moment, then exhaustion took him. When Seth and Taylor stepped into the room, they found Frank fast asleep. "I'll stay with them." Taylor had said. Seth nodded then followed the sound of Willie Mac's voice down the hall.

Once Jessica had been put into the room on monitors there was very little else that could be done. Seth had arrived and taken over her care while they were waiting for the tests to be done. Willie Mac had found the hospital didn't have enough staff on hand to deal with the amount of people coming into the hospital emergency room. One terrified youngster whose mother was being worked on had bolted down the hall. Willie stepped out to see what the alarm was about and had seen the tear-streaked face coming at him. His quick arms scooped her up and as she struggled he spoke to her gently. Perhaps it was his accent, or the tone of his voice that made her stop and listen. His eyes searched her for injuries and when the orderly came to collect her, she clung to Willie. He walked down the hall to where the next ward was and saw the amount of injured. Handing off the child to her father Willie took a breath and then went back in to where Seth was and asked simply, "What can I do to help?" Seth was about to say that there wasn't anything more that could be done for Jessica, but then he saw the blood on Willie's shirt from the little girl.

Taylor looked in to where Willie was. His eyes held a painful sadness as he spoke gently to a little boy of about five who lay pale and shivering on the cot. His face was battered from impacting the side of the door, yet his troubles were internal from the safety belts that were to protect him. The force of the impact had pushed his body against unyielding objects. Even from the door she could hear an unmistakable gasp rattle each time the child took a breath. They were waiting for one of the operating rooms to be open, but the look in Willie's eyes told her that there wasn't much that could be done. Taylor saw a tag on the boy's wrist band. It was blue. She stepped back and saw there were others that had tags on, some red, some orange, some blue. She leaned against the door holding back the tears. She knew what the tags were for. When there was no hope, or not enough doctors, they had to choose who would live, or die. Taylor wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around again. Where were his parents? She looked in the room again, and realized Willie was there so that the little boy would not be alone. She went in and picked up the boy's other hand. Willie looked at her and saw tears in her eyes. "He is next on the list to go into surgery." he said to her.

"You'll stay with him?" she asked. He nodded.

"I've promised him that already, to stay with him until he can be with his parents. He won't be alone…"

Taylor looked towards the door. "Where are they?" she asked turning back. Willie didn't need to say anything. It was on his face.

"Oh," she said fighting back the tears.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

_She leaned against the door holding back the tears. She knew what the tags were for. When there was no hope, or not enough doctors, they had to choose who would live, or die. Taylor wiped the tears from her eyes and looked around again. Where were his parents? She looked in the room again, and realized Willie was there so that the little boy would not be alone. She went in and picked up the boy's other hand. Willie looked at her and saw tears in her eyes. "He is next on the list to go into surgery." he said to her. _

"_You'll stay with him?" she asked. He nodded._

"_I've promised him that already, to stay with him until he can be with his parents. He won't be alone…"_

_Taylor looked towards the door. "Where are they?" she asked turning back. Willie didn't need to say anything. It was on his face._

"_Oh," she said fighting back the tears. _

Tipper fought her way through the crowded waiting room of the hospital. There seemed to be way too many people there, some lingering by others who were crying, some going outside into the rain seemingly without care. While the neighborhood didn't have power, she still had a battery radio and had kept it on to chart the progress of the storm as it headed inland. She had heard the accident report. Shaking her head at the vulture nature of the reporters she almost turned off the radio when she heard a name. She looked at her cats, who had jumped on the counter to look out at the clouds. It was not a night to be walking, and she knew there wouldn't be any taxies available. Groaning, she snatched the keys from the hook and tossed on her poncho. She hated to drive unless it was absolutely necessary. This was one of those times. It was a quick minute down the street to Taylor's house. She knocked, and then waited. Not hearing Sydney's bark, or seeing the little dog come to the door, she went over to Jessica's house and found no one at home there either.

"Off to the hospital they are," said a voice behind her. "Jessie took a spill." She turned and saw no one. Her heart pounding, she turned again, looking around. No one. In a shaky voice she said, "Thanks," and then got into her car and began to drive.

The waiting room had begun to settle down when Tipper strode through. She knew with the Hippa laws that she wouldn't be able to get any information from the receptionist about Jessica, but it was a fair guess that Seth was there. She passed a young couple carrying their five year old little boy out of the hospital. He was hugging his dad, and his mother in turn and there was a peaceful expression on his face. She recognized him as Cal, the owner of a small Springer spaniel named Lucky who had managed to be the only dog in Cabot Cove to hold the honor to be dequilled seven times in one summer. He waved to her as they carried him out, the dad placing him on his shoulders. She hurried past the receptionist and into the ward area where she heard Seth speaking to someone.

Seth noticed her, and her worried expression. "Dr. Henderson, what brings you out at this hour?"

"Have you seen Taylor? I went by her house and she's not there… and someone said Jessica was here – is she alright?'

"Jess is still not responding. She slipped and fell, hit her head. Frank is with her. Willie, is helping out in surgery. Taylor's in the waiting room downstairs."

"Why is Willie in surgery? He can't practice medicine in the United States without a license, can he?"

Seth shook his head. "He made a promise to stay with one of the patients while they went in … a little boy … Callahan Davis."

Tipper turned on her heel and began to race down the hall to the steps, nearly breaking her legs as she jumped from flight to flight in her haste to get to the bottom. She burst into the surgery waiting room and saw Taylor being held by Willie. She rushed to them. "Cal?" Willie turned - his face was tear-streaked and bore the mask of exhaustion. He shook his head. Tipper stepped back and went through the doors where she knew the morgue was. She had to know. Willie followed her, trying to hold her back.

"Lassie, you don't want to remember him that way, or his parents," he said gently.

"I saw them. Upstairs! Just a few minutes ago when I was coming in, I saw them. Louise and Bert - and Cal - they were fine."

Willie moved in front of Tipper and put both of his hands on the sides of her face and looked into her eyes. "Tout vient de Dieu. They say a true healer can see beyond what is spoken within the world, and see what is beneath to heal with their hearts. I have no doubts that you saw them just now lassie, and the others that have passed through the doors this night. What brings you out on an evening like this?" he asked moving his hands down to take hers in to his.

"OH! The radio - it had a report of a tractor trailer hitting a car, and the back end of the truck hit a car and that they found out who was in the first car that was hit…The police said the driver of that car was Anthony. I went to your house to tell you, and then Jessica's and someone said you all were here," she said in a rush.

"Did they say if he was all right?" asked Taylor softly.

"No, they didn't, but they didn't say he wasn't all right," Tipper said, trying to re assure her. Thinking back she said, "And I didn't see him in the waiting room or outside…like the others. They also said that Kent Fordham escaped, and the two officers that were with him transporting him to prison were killed… they don't know where he is headed to, but … he is headed here, isn't he?"

Willie let Tipper's hands go. He went to Taylor and said softly, "I don't know how to keep you two safe from him. He's going to remember, and going to want to do something about people who can identify him. If he is killed, or dies by the hands of the authorities, he becomes a symbol for their cause - his family cause which has always been about murdering the innocent in the quest for power." Willie took a breath, then went to the nurse's station and asked them to page Mort. Taylor moved to the bench with Tipper beside her. Tipper watched her friend as she sat – there were tears still on her face, yet there was no sign of distress, just exhaustion without hope. Mort strode through the elevator doors and saw Tipper there. Willie went and spoke softly to him, and then the two men went into the morgue area. It was a short time later that Willie came out. Mort was two steps behind him, and Tipper could see that he had been crying inside there. He hated to see any innocent harmed.

"Willie Mac's hunch was right. The driver of the truck was wearing a signet ring with the crest from Nightshade. And there isn't any sign of Anthony in there. We checked every one there. I will have Doc look for him among the patients… quietly."

Tipper regarded Mort. "How did the truck driver know where Anthony was - or what he was driving?"

Shaking his head, Mort sighed. "I don't know…For right now, we have to concentrate on the living. Let's go see how Mrs. F. is doing, and if she is awake…maybe she will have some ideas."

Jessica wasn't awake. The hospital had moved her into a semi private room that had no one else at the time on the other side. Frank was still asleep next to her, and someone had covered him with a blanket to keep him warm. Seth had informed them that it would be the best thing for Jessica to know that Frank was safe with her. Mort stood a moment at the foot of her bed with Tipper beside him before going out and sitting in the chair by her door. Tipper followed him out and said to him softly, "She will be all right. Seth said so himself, that he thinks she just fell asleep after everything – it's her body's way of healing."

"I'm not leaving here until I can be sure the only ones who come and go in that room are people that we know aren't on the other side," he said softly. Mort pulled a chair from one of the other rooms and placed it beside Jessica's door. "And it may be helpful if you all stay in there tonight so that I won't have to worry about you with that storm blowing in," he finished.

Willie eyed the two lounge chairs that were in the room. He sat in one and caught Taylor's hand. "Come on muirnín," he said gently as he pulled her down onto the seat next to him. Tipper eyed him as she took the other lounge chair and kicked it back to lift her feet. She saw Taylor give him a look of concern then he spoke again, softer so as not to wake Frank.

"Now, you were telling me about the evil wizard that was a willow tree I believe."

Taylor shifted, stretching herself out slightly. "So you were paying attention…"

"Oh aye," he said giving the light behind him a tug that reduced the lighting in the room down to the soft glow of the monitors and the wall light to guide whoever entered into the room.

"Hey!" said Tipper softly, a bit surprised at the sudden darkness.

Willie Mac looked over at her. "Taylor started a story earlier tonight, an' I want to hear it."

"Do you now?" Taylor asked. "And you won't be afraid?"

"I've got you to hold on to now, don't I?" he asked innocently. "Just as long as you're na causing me a heart attack by jumping out of the shadows at me again."

"I can't promise anything," she said, grinning at him. He raised his eyebrows at her. She was going to tease him when the rumble of thunder shook the windows unexpectedly. She felt him tremble beside her and placed her hand upon his chest to sooth him.

"It was a Dark and Stormy Night… The rain and wind lashed the branches in a frightful display of the elements. The skies were split by earth-shattering blasts of fierce lightning and the booming thunder that rattled the depths of the ancient willow that was once a terrible wizard who had cursed the small seaside cove…" she began again before she was interrupted by Tipper's soft giggle.

"A dark and stormy night? Oh, please!"

Willie shushed her. "I want to hear it - you can sleep if you want – if you can when she properly scares the bejebers from ye."

"Sorry," Tipper said smothering a second giggle.

Taylor cleared her throat. "Now where was I?" she said softly. "Ah yes, the terrible wizard who had cursed the small seaside cove. His name… was Alnanadula," she said in a hushed voice. As if on cue behind them a lightning bolt struck very near the hospital, sending the windows into a rattling dance upon the window panes. Rain began falling harder as she felt Willie's hand take her own. She saw something in his eyes. Desperation. He didn't want to fall apart in front of Tipper, or when he knew that Mort was just outside the door.

"Guess you must not say his name eh?" said Tipper enjoying a bit of fun with the story.

Taylor's voice was soft and warm as she continued her story. Tipper realized almost too late that the tone of Taylor's voice was such that despite the horror elements of the story, she couldn't help but feel relaxed and found herself drifting off to sleep. She could have sworn that she heard Mort chuckle outside over some of the things the wizard did just before sleep claimed her.

Seth walked down the hallway and found Mort sitting in the chair outside the door, waiting. He stood when Seth approached and saw something in his eyes. He walked down the hall and leaned against the wall. "You found him?" Seth nodded.

"He is in CCU. Had to go door to door looking, didn't want to arouse suspicions by searching the data base. He was awake when I went in… and he remembers what happened. His cell phone rang and there wasn't any one on the other end, and then the tractor trailer passed him before putting on its breaks and turning its wheel into Anthony's lane. He managed to disconnect his seat belt and throw himself out of the other side when the impact happened, and that saved his life. He hit the side of the road pretty hard, but if he hadn't, he would have been crushed to death."

"Does the press know?" Mort asked Seth softly.

Seth shook his head. "No. The hospital administrators have issued a blanket statement stating that until family members of the people involved have been notified they are not releasing any information regarding who survived the crash, nor the condition of any of the survivors."

Dawn arrived under a hazy mist of rain and falling bits of leaves in the strong winds that prevailed over the cove. Frank was the first to awake from his slumbers to see Jessica sleeping peacefully, and then Taylor and Willie Mac. In the other chair he saw Tipper, and knew he had something to ask her. It could wait He turned back to Jessica and gave her a kiss on her cheek, then slid out of bed and walked out of the room. Mort was speaking to one of the nurses while watching the elevator door. It wasn't that Mort wasn't paying attention, but he was looking for adults coming and going, not kids. Frank had no problem walking down the hall and getting onto the elevator. Reaching out, he hit a button and rode the elevator to the top floor and stepped out onto the ward. He didn't see any one at the desk. Not that he found that odd: it was a hospital, and early morning, and he figured they were getting ready for the shift change or something.

Being small had its advantages. No one notices kids, or pays attention to what they are doing. It was a simple matter for him to slip into the room and pull up a chair and get the extra blanket for over his shoulders as if he had been their the whole night. He knew the shift was changing. He couldn't say why he had left the safety of his Aunt Jessica's room, or how he knew what room to go to, but he found himself looking upon Anthony as he lay hooked up to monitors and the machine to help him breath. Frank could tell he was in a bad state. Carefully, he settled in holding Anthony's free hand, and rested his head upon the edge of the bed. He didn't realize he was drifting off until he heard the sliding of the curtain and looked up without moving his head. Someone was in the room in a white jacket. Frank focused on the person. It was a tall, thin man who was in a white lab jacket and had a white t-shirt underneath. The man stepped up to the IV poll and began looking at the full bags and all of the connectors. His hands moved over them, tracing down them to where they went into Anthony's arm.

Frank saw the glint of a gold signet ring that bore a black stone with a triangle and hour glass in the center of it on the man's ring finger. Carefully Frank grasped the signal button and gave it a push as the man pulled a syringe from his pocket. It held a dark yellow liquid that swirled as he raised it to one of the primary connectors. Frank knew something was very wrong, and, unmindful of his own danger, lifted his head and asked, "What are you doing?"

The man hesitated for a second. "Just giving what the Doctor ordered, sonny," the man said smoothly.

"No. I don't think you should," said Frank. He saw the man look at him. Frank had been to the zoo once and had stood by the cage that held the king cobras. One of them had raised its head to regard him and spread its hood, hissing. Frank had stood transfixed in the gaze of the snake's eyes. He knew the glass between them would protect him. Frank felt the same way now as he looked into this man's eyes – he knew that he was dangerous and only the bed stood between him and certain death. But he knew, somehow, that if he let the man put whatever he had into the IV tube, Anthony wouldn't make it. He also knew that as a witness to it, one who could identify the man, Frank wouldn't make it out of the room alive ether. He shifted over to the left slightly and let his fingers curl around his secret weapon. No one had answered the bell. Frank knew he had one chance at this, and at the very least the noise that was going to follow should bring someone. He saw the man step to the IV poll again. Lifting his arm up Frank thanked his dad silently for all the hours that he practiced throwing paper wads into the trash basket from across the room.

The metal bed pan made a flying arc as it flew across the bed and impacted the man's head with a resounding clang before it clattered to the floor and skittered into the hallway. The man dropped the syringe and grabbed on to the curtain as he staggered backwards then went to his knees Frank heard a snarl. He realized that while the man hit with a metal bed pan could have been seriously injured, it didn't knock him out, and only made him more angry than he had ever seen any adult be as he rose from his knees and came around the bedside to lift Frank up by his shirt .

"Why you…" the man snarled.

"SOMEBODY HELP!" yelled Frank as he began kicking and wiggling as hard as he could. "HELP ME, PLEASE!"

"There isn't anyone to help you here, little boy," the man hissed.

There was a voice behind the man that caused him to pause. Or, as Frank realized later, it was the police special that was now pushed into the man's spine from behind him.

"I wouldn't count on that…" said Mort mildly as he reached around and got the man's left arm to cuff him. Frank pulled away from the man and backed up to the bed. The man continued to look at him with loathing. Frank was determined not to give in to the fear or the pounding of his heart. "Nice going, kid," said Mort with a nod.

"I didn't do anything…" the man said, trying to turn to face Mort. "This kid just whaled me out of the blue. I was just doing my job…"

"Oh, that is such tarbh Cac peacach," snorted Frank. "He had a syringe and was going to put it into his IV tube, but he wasn't wearing any gloves - and he doesn't have a name badge, and he has that ring on…" said Frank, looking around the room for it. He found it kicked under the bed and using a tissue he picked it up and held it up for Mort. "Maybe we should try it on him to find out what's in it?" asked Frank, looking at Mort.

"Maybe…" Mort agreed.

The man twisted, turned and looked at Mort. "You don't know what you're doing…"

"Actually, I do. I know the whole story and I know that I am arresting you for murder, attempted murder, assault on a minor, resisting arrest, impersonating hospital personnel and a host of others that I will think of before your paperwork dries. You have the right to remain silent…"

As Mort led the man out of the room Frank walked to the tall trash can next to the sink. His whole body was shaking like a leaf. He hadn't eaten since dinner time, but he felt as if his belly was going to rebel. He doubled over and was on his fourth heave when he felt strong hands support his weak body and guide him to a chair.

"Easy, Frank. It's okay, it's over. You're safe now," he heard Mort say with concern.

Frank looked up at him. "How did you know? The nurse didn't come to help, she didn't answer the bell. He was going to kill Anthony, and me - and if you hadn't come in…"

Mort let a slow breath out. He hadn't noticed Frank was gone. His being there was coincidental. Seth had come to check Jessica's vitals, and Mort had used that time to come up to see how Anthony was doing. He noticed that his entry onto the floor wasn't challenged, and calling for backup he saw that both the nurse and the officer who were to be on duty were slumped behind the desk, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to tell him they both were dead. He had turned at the sound of the bed pan crashing across the floor and was only a few seconds behind the man who had threatened Frank.

"If you're up to it, Mrs. F should be awake by now… Andy will stay with Anthony, he's safe now," Mort said gently. "And, uh, I wouldn't let your aunt hear what you said to that guy, or repeat anything like that, that you overhear from Willie Mac, Kapeash?" He felt Frank give a nod, and helped him up to his feet. Frank was still a bit wobbly as Mort guided him out of the room and down to the elevators. To Frank's relief, there were enough State Police officers moving around to secure the area.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

_Frank looked up at him. "How did you know? The nurse didn't come to help, she didn't answer the bell. He was going to kill Anthony, and me - and if you hadn't come in…"_

Mort let a slow breath out. He hadn't noticed Frank was gone. His being there was coincidental. Seth had come to check Jessica's vitals, and Mort had used that time to come up to see how Anthony was doing. He noticed that his entry onto the floor wasn't challenged, and calling for backup he saw that both the nurse and the officer who were to be on duty were slumped behind the desk, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to tell him they both were dead. He had turned at the sound of the bed pan crashing across the floor and was only a few seconds behind the man who had threatened Frank.

"_If you're up to it, Mrs. F should be awake by now… Andy will stay with Anthony, he's safe now," Mort said gently. "And, uh, I wouldn't let your aunt hear what you said to that guy, or repeat anything like that, that you overhear from Willie Mac, Kapeash?" He felt Frank give a nod, and helped him up to his feet. Frank was still a bit wobbly as Mort guided him out of the room and down to the elevators. To Frank's relief, there were enough State Police officers moving around to secure the area._

Frank was relieved to see that Jessica was awake when he was brought down to her room. He hesitated at the door though, the strong feeling that he was guilty of hurting her overshadowing his heart again. She couldn't lift her head to look at him, or turn it. The fall had not affected her hearing though.

"Frank?" she said softly. Mort nudged Frank into the room, giving him a curious look. Frank went in, and then over to the bedside where he flung himself onto her and began to sob, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" over and over again. Mort had no idea why Frank was saying that, but the look that Taylor shared with Willie and Tipper spoke volumes. Jessica let him cry for a while. She knew there was more of what was going on, and it would come out in time. Finally when he was reduced to sniffs and a few hiccups, she said softly, "Dear, it wasn't your fault."

"But you fell on one of my pencils. I wasn't careful and you got hurt."

Jessica couldn't shake her head. But even Frank couldn't mistake the chuckle in her voice. "Oh, Frank. It wasn't your pencil. Taylor told me what Sydney found, and yes, a few of yours did fall, but I found those right away. That pencil was the one I use at my telephone. It doesn't have a proper string, and its always falling down. It had to have fallen when I went to get you and the neighbor's tree was hit by lightning. If you weren't there, who knows how long I would have laid there?"

"A long while until Seth came for some of that apple pie," said Mort, grinning.

Frank gave a hiccup then said, "So you're awake, and you can come home now…" The adults exchanged looks and after a silence Mort coughed. He wasn't sure what they had planned at this point.

It was Tipper who said to him gently, "Mrs. Fletcher has to stay in the hospital for a few days. She hit her head pretty hard, and her back isn't as strong as it used to be."

"Okay, well, there is an extra bed here - just have to figure out where the showers are…unless you plan to send me to Grandma and Grandpa Mayberry's house?" he said with some trepidation. He saw Jessica look at Mort. Maybe he would be safer there, thought Frank, but then again, the Mayberrys wouldn't know who to watch out for, and where they lived the whole neighborhood was full of strangers. He wasn't about to worry Jessica with the fact that he was almost killed a few floors above.

"One night the hospital would overlook, especially last night. But until Mrs. F is discharged from the hospital by Dr. Hazlitt, you're best off staying with Ms. Andrews and Willie Mac," said Mort, a bit pleased with himself for discovering a solution. Jessica saw Taylor's surprise, the look that was exchanged between them, and then back to Mort, who knew something but wasn't saying.

Seth chimed in. "That's an excellent idea. Would give these two a chance to discover what parenting is all about," he said with a wink. "For now, Jessica, you have some tests that your insurance company has authorized me to have preformed on you, one of which is having your head examined, and we are going to have some room changes shortly. I suggest that if Dr. Henderson wouldn't mind taking Ms. Andrews, Mr. Mac, and Mr. Fletcher home to get things in order, they could return later for afternoon visiting hours?"

"All right," she agreed. Frank gave her a careful hug and then walked over to where Taylor was and took her hand in his. It wasn't that he was being clingy, he just needed support just then.

They were nearly at the door when Jessica said, "Oh, Tipper, Bert Davis asked me last night for you to check Lucky for a quill behind a back tooth - and he mentioned that they needed someone to take care of Lucky just for the summer. Bert said they had to go away unexpectedly. "

"Coinnigh cuimhne orm, le do thoil," said Willie softly, crossing himself.

"When did you speak to Bert?" asked Mort, curious. He gave Seth a look, then looked at Tipper, who was quite pale.

"Last night," said Jessica, looking at them with some confusion.

"I'll check Lucky for the quill Mrs. Fletcher. Would you mind if Frank took Lucky in?" Tipper asked, trying to steady her voice. "She really loves kids, and I don't know of any other families around here who don't already have a dog. I know it's a lot to ask…"

Jessica saw Frank's hopeful face. "All right," she said softly. Seth took that as a cue to shoo them all out of the room. He would tell Jessica about the Davis family later

Tipper carefully felt inside of Lucky's mouth for the second time. She didn't find anything the first time when she picked her up at the kennel, but knowing that Lucky had just been dequilled a few days before by the her partner, and that Jess would have had no way of knowing about the dequilling, she wanted to be sure. The kennel owner had said Lucky hadn't been eating right. For a dog that relished eating the back screen door and had gnawed three of the steps from the Davis's back porch and not had any problems eating afterwards, being off was a clue something was wrong.

An x ray of the jaw showed the half inch quill stuck into the inside of the upper back molars. Lucky gave a sigh of relief once the quill was removed. With a quick swab of antiseptic Tipper cauterized the wound and then settled Lucky into her cage until she was able to travel to Taylor's house.

THUMP CLUMP THUMP CLUMP THUMP CLUMP THUMP echoed Frank's feet as he bounded up the steps from Taylor's basement bringing the extra sheet set upstairs. Willie's answer to Frank's boundless energy was to wear him out. Taylor had laughed. It had been a while since Willie was a young boy, but during her time at her job she had seen many a young set of parents exhausted long before their children were. Frank had made six trips to the basement and wasn't even winded. Willie was coming in from outside and he wore a bemused grin on his face. He had figured out something else that Frank could do. It didn't take more than a moment for Taylor to notice the noise in her house had stopped. Curious, she finished tucking the blanket in on the futon and went downstairs to find Willie sipping a cup of tea. His hands were shaking visibly.

"Willie? Where is Frank, and what's wrong?" she asked, taking the cup from him to take a sip then handing it back to him.

"Oh, outside cutting the grass. I checked it and it's dry enough," he said, tilting his head to the back yard. "An' when he's done with that, Jessica's yard needs doing as well, but she's got rose bushes in the back, so it's only the front. I calculated that should keep him busy for at least two hours."

"But I don't hear the mower…" Taylor said, going to where the back porch doors were. She saw Frank gamely pushing the reel mower. "Oh, Willie! You didn't!" she said, a bit shocked. "He's just a young boy! Why isn't he using the electric mower? The power is back on," she said, putting her hand to her mouth as she went back to him.

Willie had no apology in his eyes. "Aye, it is. An' he didna ask to use that one when he heard no doubt it was the one like his Da used when he stayed with his Aunt Jessica. He reasoned if his Da could do it, so could he."

She placed her hand on his chest and felt his heart racing, his body trembling beneath her hand. "And what has you shaking like a leaf?"

Willie put his cup down on the counter behind him and laid his hand over hers, taking it.

"Only that it took an observant eleven year old to say that as I had slept with you last night, that it would be in my best interest to marry you afore others found out. I realized when I woke up with you in my arms this morning that, well, it was the way that I wanted to wake up every morning. I ha no name I can give to you, Taylor. My gram gave me my da's name, as do those who take in foundlings, but I don't know if I ha any right to give that name to anyone else. Even my mother's people dinna come forward to lay claim to me. An' if that's not from havin' a child of shame, I don't know what else is."

"Well, I can guess. Willie, when you were born, it was at an age where a woman could not just raise a child on her own. You said your father died before you were born. What choice would she have to give you a normal child hood except to leave you with your grandmother? How hard it must have been to leave you behind, to know that if she came back, she would just have to leave you again. I have known you only a short time, Willie Mac, and I know you to be an honorable man. There is no shame in the life that I have seen of yours, nor of your parentage."

Willie let out a slow breath, then his hands dropped and slipped about her thin waist, pulling her closer to him. "You are a most remarkable Anam Cara," he said giving her a long hug.

Frank pushed and pulled the mower across Taylor's back yard. When Willie had first asked about cutting grass, he was going to remind Willie that as an apartment dweller, he had no experience to do such a task, but Willie had shown him it wasn't that hard at all, and with someone so full of boundless energy it wouldn't take long at all. He snuck a glance back at the house. The casual hint about Willie marrying Taylor - he wasn't playing matchmaker, but he knew that married couples kissed far less than unmarried ones. Not that he had seen Willie kiss Taylor much, not like those sloppy face-sucking ones in Hollywood. But if he was distracted about that, then, well, there would be fewer chores that he would be thinking up for Frank to do.

As Frank pushed the mower his mind began to go over what he would write for his paper that he had to present to the principal in a week's time. He stopped in the middle of a push and gave a giggle. Of course he would tell the truth. No one would believe it, but it would be worth it to see their expressions. He resumed pushing the mower. Not all of his stay here was with the same feeling. He missed his parents, and as they were traveling a lot now, they didn't have time to call every day. He knew that would happen. His dad had said in the last call that his mom was resting a lot and Grady had let slip that she had been to the Doctor's the day before for some tests. He had asked his dad if it was the type that failing them was a good thing, or passing them would be better. Grady laughed and said it was the type that was more of a true or false test. That had confused Frank. He was going to ask Willie about it, but decided until he knew more, he would wait.

The back yard wasn't that hard to cut at all and the front yards, with him pretending to be driving a race car back and forth, went faster. Willie had told him when he was done he had to clean off the mower and put it away before coming in. Frank entered the kitchen after kicking off his shoes and leaving them by the door. He closed the screen door softly and locked it before coming around the corner to find Willie and Taylor still in an embrace with Willie's lips gently touching Taylor's. It was as if Willie had never seen a Hollywood movie kiss, and perhaps, Frank mused, that was a good thing. Frank cleared his throat. At least they didn't jerk apart like there was anything to be guilty about.

Willie looked at him. "Done already?" he asked, curious. He saw Frank nod. "Very well. Off to be a fish and scrub the green from your face. An' when you're done with it, take your dirty clothes down to the laundry basket downstairs. An' don't use all the hot water!"

Frank opened a bottle of shampoo. It held a purple liquid inside and it reminded him of his mother. For the longest time he stood there, smelling it before deciding if he was going to use it for his shower. Jessica had impressed on him the need to restrict how much water he used. The first time he had forgotten and had spent time with the shampoo in his hair making it go in all different directions. He realized too late that when all the hot water was used up, it became very cold water and he had to finish washing the soap off while he shivered. Ducking in to get wet, turning it off, then washing with the water turned off gave him more time in the shower to play. Sometimes he drew on the steamy walls, but he was very careful to use a soapy cloth to wash the walls down after as he knew the oils from his hands would make the image visible for the next person. A quick rinse followed, then he wrapped up in a fluffy towel. Belatedly he realized he hadn't brought his cloths into the shower with him. He grabbed Taylor's fluffy robe from the hook and put it on then ducked into his room. Pulling on his white cotton socks, bvds and his jeans, Frank bundled up his dirty cloths and went down the steps through the kitchen and down into the basement.

THUMP CLUMP THUMP CLUMP THUMP CLUMP RATTLE CLUMP echoed in the small basement room. Frank paused. He had been thumping up and down the steps all morning and hadn't heard the rattle before. He backed up a step and thumped it again, and heard the soft rattle again. It wasn't like a rattlesnake rattle, it was different. He clumped down the rest of the steps and put his cloths in the laundry basket as Willie had said, then went to the underside of the steps to see what could possibly be making that noise. Almost at once he bumped his head. He realized it was dark under the steps, and the spider that he saw crawling around was huge. He didn't want to mess with any other creature that could be in there. Backing up, he looked around and spied a flashlight on the small work bench. The batteries were dim in the flashlight as he flicked it on then moved back under the steps. He saw the glint of metal and, curious, he gave it a tug.

"WHOA…" he said as the long sword slid from the shelf and fell with a clatter onto the stone floor.

In the kitchen Willie heard the clatter and knew exactly what it was. "Damnú air," he muttered, sighing as he left Taylor's embrace and hurried down the steps.

Frank had dragged the sword in the scabbard to where the washing machine was and with both hands tried to lift it up onto it. The scabbard fell to the stone floor as the blade wobbled in his hands and he almost dropped the heavy sword as the oil that coated it made it slick. He didn't hear or see Willie come down the steps until his hand caught the sword as it slipped out of Frank's hands and tumbled towards his leg.

"An' what do ye think ye are doing? How would I be explaining to Jessica ye lost ye leg to foolishness? Don't let me catch you touching that again, it will slice ye to the bone."

"I heard a rattle when I was coming down the steps and when I looked it was tucked up under in a cubby hole - I was just curious. What do the markings say on it?"

He saw the struggle on Willie's face as he slid it back into the sheath and wrapped it in the oil cloth that had fallen away. Willie went under the steps and put it up into the next cubby hole slot higher than what Frank could reach on his own. When he stepped out he looked at Frank and said softly, "That I am a coward."

It wasn't what Frank expected. Willie pointed up the steps and Frank scurried up them, not quite sure what to say.

Nothing more was said about the sword as he rode in the back seat of the taxi with them to the hospital. Jessica was sitting up in bed looking tired from everything she had been through but she still smiled as Frank came in with a small vase holding cut flowers and a balloon that was tied to one of the stems. He didn't need to be asked twice to get up beside her and nestle next to her shoulder. He wrinkled his nose. "You smell like an old person… but it's not how you smelled before. Is it the hospital soap that makes you stinky?" The words were out of his mouth before he realized it. He ducked his head down as he flushed. "Sorry, that didn't come out right."

Jessica instructed him to open the tray on her table and to take a sniff of the soap at hand. He did, and wrinkling his nose again. "When you get home, the first order of the day will be to take a proper bath with some of that purple stuff you have… I like that smell."

She turned her head and sniffed him. "Oh, so that's why you smell of lavender…" she said smiling. "With any luck, I should be out of here in the next day or so. Seth is keeping me here as a precaution. Now, what is this I hear about you and a flying bed pan?"

In a rush Frank told Jessica about his trip upstairs. He had reasoned that in all the hospital, if Anthony was there, he would be upstairs, as were most of the people who were in bad accidents. It was a simple process of elimination, and while he didn't think that he was the proper sort of man for Taylor, Jessica still liked him and it felt like a right thing to do. The bed pan just happened to be there. But he was greatly relived that it had not been used.

It was later that night, after the visit back to the hospital, lessons, dinner and tucking Frank into bed that Taylor found Willie outside, sitting on the step of the back porch slowly packing tobacco into a clay pipe's bowl with his thumb. Mud season was over. Spring crept over the cove, yet the air still had a chill in it as he struck a wooden match and lit the pipe. Taylor hadn't even known that Willie smoked - in all the days they had been together, she hadn't ever seen any trace of it, nor smelt the smoke on his jacket. He drew on it, and coughed, then drew on it again and closed his eyes as the smoke filled his lungs. He coughed again. He saw her regarding him curiously.

"Woman, allow me one vice to get through days like this, an' tomorrow we will have the boy, an' his dog ... Some men drink away their problems, some men chase beautiful women, others smoke pipe. Ye know I canna abide by the grain, an' I'm na a ladies' man…" he shrugged ruefully.

"Or is it that I am not beautiful enough to be chased?" she asked, withdrawing from him.

"Muirnín, you are far more beautiful than any man deserves. Least of all, I." He took another draw from his pipe and coughed again.

"It's not yours - you've no experience with it. You're not a man of the pipe, Willie, and kissing men who smoke is the hardest thing a woman should ever have to do," she said, regarding him in the darkness. She saw the soft glow of the tobacco in the pipe as it smoldered.

"It's one of my Gram's. She packed it for me an' said that there would be days when I would need it. I canna stop shaking like a wee páistí. I'm terrified of all that has been happening, and what will happen, an' most of all, of losing you to Anthony. He loves you above all else, and I see in your heart you do still love him. I canna compete with the likes of him. I canna offer you what he can give you without questioning if it is right of me to even try. It wouldn't be fair for you to have a man who dresses in homespun an' is too much of a cladhaire to work in the profession he was trained to do all of his life."

"Your grandmother is a wise woman, but I don't think she means for you to smoke the pipe," Taylor said, gently taking it from his hands before he could take another draw from it. He looked at her, curious. She held it in her hands and took a breath of the smoke that curled between them. "Close your eyes and take a breath - what do you smell?"

'The tobacco burning, a new mowed lawn …" he said softly.

"What do you see?" she asked. She saw a tear come down his cheek from the corner of his eye.

"Gram sitting at the fire having her evening smoke. The cottage, the herbs hanging to dry. When it was safe in the world to go to bed. " He opened his eyes up.

"She gave you the pipe so that you would always be able to hold that memory in your heart, to comfort you when times were very bad," she said, handing him back the pipe. "As for Anthony, he wanted marriage and babies, and I could never see him as father material. It was one of the reasons why I told him it was something that I would have to think about, and a reason why I didn't go back to California to be with him. You, on the other hand, will make a wonderful father." Taylor waited until he had made the decision to put the pipe out, gently tapping the clay bowl with his finger so that the tobacco fell against the stone walkway before snuffing it out with his shoe. He pocketed the pipe and regarded her.

"I have nothing to offer you, Muirnín."

"What makes you feel I would want for anything? Until you came, I was here waiting to die. There were days I didn't get out of bed, nor eat, or speak to a soul beyond Sydney, who had at that time a better life than I did. You came and tore away that veil of darkness that covered me. I haven't felt this alive in years. What magic have you poured into my life?" she asked simply.

In his room Frank listened to them conversing. He had gone to bed and closed his eyes for a bit, but in truth he was waiting for them to finish up their evening, and then he had some plans of his own. It had occurred to him that he did recognize what the markings

on the sword were, and that he did have a way to find out what it said.

He had mentioned to Taylor that the flashlight in the basement needed new batteries and while they were at the hospital they stopped off at the gift shop and bought Jessica flowers. They learned from Seth that she had been moved to CCU where it would be easier to keep her safe along with Anthony. Willie had waited while Taylor had gone in to see him. Seth had said his heart was strong, and while he had some broken ribs and a punctured lung he would recover. Frank had seen that most of the one side of Anthony's face had heavy bandages on it. The doctor who had taken care of him mentioned reconstructive surgery, in time. Contact with the road had buffed off a lot of the skin. Jessica was in good spirits. Seth had chosen to keep her there as a precautionary measure and, as he said, give her a rest to replenish the energy that she expended caring for Frank. She was still sitting up in bed when they had left, though even Frank could see she was very tired.

Not everything was going along with Frank's plan though. When Willie came up to the room he spent a long time tossing and turning, and for a bit after Frank thought he heard a catch of a sob. Curious, he looked over and saw that Willie was asleep, curled up in a tight ball, the covers tossed aside. Frank got out of bed and pulled the covers over Willie then waited a moment before he gathered the paper and crayon that he had placed on the edge of the dresser. He looked into Taylor's room and saw the lump of covers and Sydney, who looked at him then laid her head back down. Softly he went down the steps to the first floor, and then into the basement. He had already been down to the basement earlier to replace the batteries, and had placed a chair under the steps so that he could have access to the sword. Willie hadn't forbidden him to touch it - he had said not to let him _catch_ him touching it, and there was a distinction in Frank's mind regarding that. Willie had commented that Frank had the weight of an angel and that it would be years before his muscles caught up to his frame.

Frank knew the sword was heavy. He was very careful so that it didn't fall this time. Gently he eased it to the floor and opened the oil cloth. It made a soft scraping sound as he slid it from the scabbard. Deftly he laid the paper over the sword and in the flashlight glow made a quick rubbing of the blade on each side. He then took a separate paper and copied down all of the markings that were on the blade and scabbard and folded it tightly into his robe pocket. Satisfied that he could make out the markings on the rubbings, he slid the sword back into the scabbard and refolded the oil cloth the way that Willie had it. It took two tries to get it back into the cubby hole. Sighing with relief he lifted the chair back to where it had been and folded the rubbings papers, and discovered that his hands were a bit oily. Going up the steps in the dark he was surprised to see Sydney waiting at the top of the steps for him wagging her tail. He pulled the door closed behind him, careful not to get any of the oil on the door knob, and went to the sink to wash them. He wasn't quite sure what would take it off. He used a paper towel to turn on the water, picked up the dish washing soap and gave his hands a good squirt. It didn't seem like it was doing much and Frank got the feeling that the oil used on the blade and the handle wasn't food quality oil. He heard a footstep behind him and saw it was Taylor. She regarded him, and then opened up the cupboard doors pulled out a small bottle marked GUNK and squirted it on his hands. He gave it a good rub and the oil came off, washing down the drain. Frank sighed in relief.

"Thank you," he said softly. He looked at her. "How did you know?"

She shrugged. "Sydney let me know that you had gone down into the cellar, and except for your laundry and canned food, the only other thing down there was Willie's sword. Didn't he tell you not to touch it?"

Frank squirmed. "Well, his exact words were not to let him catch me touching it … Are you going to tell him?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Taylor sighed. "No. But you will tomorrow morning. The reason why is the oils from people's hands have acid in them, and it can destroy the blade. Willie will have to re-oil the blade before it's re-wrapped and put up for storage."

"I didn't know that … It's just I have seen the markings before, and Willie says that they say he is a coward. I don't believe that he is, though. I want to understand, Taylor. I really do."

"Did you ask him to show you the sword at a later time?" she asked softly

Frank shook his head. "He was ticked off enough that I had it out of the scabbard in the first place to look at it. When I left the room a bit ago, it sounded like he was crying in his sleep. Dad says that grown men do cry, and they aren't being a baby about anything. He said he cried when I was born because Mum was squeezing his hand so hard, and because I was, as he said, very beautiful," he said, making a face at the thought. In a way he was trying to sidetrack the issue and divert attention to what he had been doing.

"So, what was worth you getting grounded by taking the sword off of the shelf?" she said, folding her arms over her chest. Grounding him was going to be difficult. Frank didn't realize it, as he really didn't have any privileges to be taken away and he had been through so much already.

"I just did crayon rubbings of the markings on the sword blade, and I wrapped it up the same way that Willie Mac had. It didn't fall this time and I only touched the handle, not the blade. Well, the paper touched the blade, but would that hurt it?" he asked, curious.

He saw Taylor sigh. "I don't know. Please understand, Frank, that sword isn't a toy. It's very old, and the blade is sharp enough to remove a limb from your body. Think about how Willie would have felt if even after he put it on the shelf it had slipped and harmed you? And the other thing is … it's Willie's sword. Whatever the writings are, it's not for you to read unless he says you can. It's very personal. Can you understand that?"

"Sort of. I just don't understand what the big deal is, or what is going on."

Taylor sighed as she glanced at the clock. It was going on 11 pm and she knew the sun would be up in five hours.

"It's something that we will discuss tomorrow," she said, holding her hand out for the crayon rubbings. Frank handed over the folded papers. She turned him around to the direction of the steps and marched him upward. They were almost at the top of the steps when Frank heard a distinctive sob coming from the room he shared with Willie Mac. He stopped and looked at Taylor and knew she had heard it too. She sighed and inclined her head to her room "Tuck into my bed with Sydney. I'll see to things," she said softly. Frank nodded. She waited until he was in her bed with the covers up before she closed the door and then he heard his door closed and her soft voice comforting Willie. Sydney crawled up to Frank and wiggled next to him trying to lick his nose. He gave Sydney a pat, and then, exhausted, he fell asleep.

Dawn came. Frank woke and carefully opened the door to the room where his clothes were. He looked at the bed and saw Taylor sitting up, asleep and wrapped in her robe. Willie had his head on her lap and she had been rubbing his back to comfort him. Frank remembered a man who lived in the apartment near them. He had been in one of the wars, and his dad had used the term 'shell shock' to explain the man's behavior, much like what Willie had been going through. He snagged his back pack and his clothing and went into the bathroom to take a shower and change for the day. He unzipped his back pack and slipped the small folded paper that was in his pocket into one of the zipper pockets and closed it. If he was going to be grounded, it may as well be for really doing something.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

_Dawn came. Frank woke and carefully opened the door to the room where his clothes were. He looked at the bed and saw Taylor sitting up, asleep and wrapped in her robe. Willie had his head on her lap and she had been rubbing his back to comfort him. Frank remembered a man who lived in the apartment near them. He had been in one of the wars, and his dad had used the term 'shell shock' to explain the man's behavior, much like what Willie had been going through. He snagged his back pack and his clothing and went into the bathroom to take a shower and change for the day. He unzipped his back pack and slipped the small folded paper that was in his pocket into one of the zipper pockets and closed it. If he was going to be grounded, it may as well be for really doing something._

Willie Mac woke. He smelt lavender and for a moment clung to that scent. He gave a sigh and sat up before seeing Taylor asleep sitting up in his bed. He looked over his shoulder and realized Frank wasn't in the room. He could hear the sound of water running. He felt Taylor's hand rub his back softly.

"Woman, what are you doing in my bed in your night shift?" he asked, curious.

Taylor brushed a lock of his curly hair from his cheek tenderly. "It was the only way to stop your nightmares, Willie, and your crying. I don't understand much of what you said, but some I did."

"As did Frank?" he asked softly.

He felt Taylor sigh as she picked up one of his hands. "No, Frank stayed in my room last night. Your trembling has stopped."

He lifted his head then sat up in bed regarding her. "Why did you come in here? I'm not a child," he said crossly.

She jerked back as if he had slapped her face. "I care about you Willie, even if you don't care about anything else except your wounded pride," she said, getting out of the bed and tossing the covers aside as she strode across the room. Taylor stopped as she came to the door frame. "Did it ever occur to you that the answers you seek are closer than you know, that you have but to ask? That facing what you fear would bring an end to it all, and you would be free?"

"You have no idea –" he began, giving her a dismissive wave.

"What? About death? What mangled bodies look like when they have been murdered, or torn apart from bombs? When I met Anthony it was investigating a man who was blackmailing others, and in helping him gather the evidence, I saw things that have haunted my dreams. And later, working with the coroner's office with autopsy and identification photography … Yours is not the only world that has had the innocence ripped away or seen young children whose lives have been snatched away by a moment of madness, and to have to face their parents as they grieve. I know what your heart feels. But do not let apathy incapacitate your future life," she said before closing the door with a slam that rattled the photos on the wall. She went into her bedroom and slammed that door as well.

Willie rubbed his beard stubble with his hands. In all of his days he would never understand women. As he lifted his head, he noticed folded paper that was oil stained lying on Frank's bed. Rising, he crossed the room and picked it up. The crayon rubbings were beginning to blur as the wax was dissolving in the petroleum, but the shape of the sword and his knowledge of what was written on the sword told him what it was. He knew that Taylor wouldn't have had reason to do the rubbings, which left Frank. Sighing, Willie placed the drawings beside him and waited.

Frank saw the drawings as soon as he entered the room to put his bed cloths under his pillow. He put his back pack down on the floor and swallowed as Willie regarded him silently.

"Taylor said that I am grounded. I'm sorry. What you said yesterday didn't make sense. You're not a coward."

"She knew you got the sword down again?" asked Willie with a note of irritation in his voice.

"She caught me coming back up the steps and told me that I was grounded and that I would have to tell you that I looked at the sword again and got rubbings from it because the oils in my hands would damage the blade. I didn't know that."

"Why did you look again, when I told you na to?" Willie asked softly.

"Your words were not to let you catch me …" Frank said, looking down at the floor. "I was careful, and Taylor said how dangerous the sword was. I won't be doing it again."

"Dangerous isn't the word, Frank. Deadly is. In my lifetime, that sword was the death of my Father, my Gram's last apprentice, and poked through a man in the shop na four years ago. It's na just the deadly nature of the sword – it's - it's all I have left of my family. For many years I searched for it because it had been stolen from me. You want to know what it says? It says, "He who holds the sword holds the land." It means it is to be used to defend and protect the land that my family has fought for over thousands of years. I am a healer, sworn to protect people and to heal them, even if they are my enemy. I can not raise that sword to harm them, or use it to regain that which was stolen from my family generations ago… I am very disappointed in you, Frank, that you would have such casual disregard for a simple request that was made to protect you."

"I'm just eleven, I'm a kid!"

"You're old enough to act as an adult, Frank, to be responsible and to make proper decisions of what is right and wrong. When I was eleven I had helped birth half a dozen infants in my village and was well on my way of the learning to be a healer…" began Willie.

Frank threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "Well, I am not a know-it-all bastard like you. I'm just a stupid dumb lame-ass idiot who can't follow simple directions." He went to his back pack and unzipped it. Taking a breath he pulled out the folded paper that he had hidden before and tossed it at Willie. His aim was off and it landed at Willie's feet. "I won't touch your old sword again," he said before turning and going out of the room and down the steps. Frank strode across the living room, grabbing his coat as he shoved his feet into his shoes and snagging the key for Jessica's house. He closed the door and went over to his room in her house and threw himself onto the bed. This was not the summer vacation he was expecting.

Sydney came into Willie's room and went to him. She sat at his feet and looked up at him beneath a mop of her curly white hair. Laying a soft paw on his leg she licked at his offered hand. "Well, that went well … at least you're speaking to me," he said softly. Sydney wiggled her backside before picking up the folded paper that Frank had thrown at him. For a moment Willie regarded the paper, and then took it from her. Curious as to what it was he opened it and saw the markings Frank had made the night before. He was about to crumple the paper in his hands when he noticed something.

Tipper had picked up Lucky at the clinic and after bundling her into the car drove to Taylor's to drop her off. She saw as she turned onto Jessica's street the figure of Frank leaving Taylor's house and going to Jessica's. He didn't look too happy. She saw him rub his eyes and pull his jacket closer to him as he let himself into the house. Tipper parked her car and for a moment just sat there. It was still pretty early, but if Frank was up, then Taylor and Willie would be up and about as well. She reached up and unclipped the safety harness that held Lucky firm enough so she wouldn't go tumbling, and after gathering the papers she clipped on her lead.

She looked into the dog's eyes. She could see the first time that Cal had brought Lucky in to the exam room. He was just three and Lucky had a mouthful of quills. Despite her great pain, Lucky listened to Cal as he told her to sit and stay, and not bite the nice vet's hand when she was trying to help her. Cal was the only one Lucky truly listened to. Lucky had stayed beside Cal when he got the chicken pox, and through several bad cases of hives, and you didn't see Cal with out Lucky when Cal was out and about with his parents.

Lucky was looking out the window, sensing that something wasn't right. She could smell another dog, and looked with an accusing eye at Tipper that she had been delivered to the wrong house. Tipper felt as if she had to explain to Lucky what happened. She opened her mouth to say something, and closed it. She tried again, but all she could manage was "Cal is gone, Lucky," before the tears came. Lucky pressed against Tipper as she wrapped her arms around the spaniel's body. When she had composed herself she got out of the car and led Lucky to Jessica's front door.

Frank heard the door bell. Curious, he wiped his eyes and blew his nose then went down to the front door. Carefully he looked out and saw it was Dr. Henderson. He opened the door and Lucky gamboled in and up to him as if she owned the place. Looking up he saw Tipper's red rimmed eyes and handed her his wadded handkerchief. "Must be that type of day," he said, looking down at the dog who was now on her back waving her paws at him as she sneezed. He knelt beside Lucky and rubbed her tummy. "Thank you for bringing Lucky over, Dr. Henderson. What I don't understand is why they couldn't take Lucky with them." He looked at Tipper and noticed her face was scrunched up. She took a step away from Lucky and sat on the chair in the hallway while she still held the lead.

"Frank … you know that Taylor's friend Anthony was in an accident, right?" Frank nodded, not sure where she was going with this. He saw fresh tears begin to spill over on to her cheeks. "Cal and his family … well, they were in the car that was behind the tractor trailer that jackknifed, and Cal's dad couldn't stop in time. His parents died right away. They tried to help Cal with surgery. Willie was with him when… when Cal died last night. He was half your age."

Frank blinked a few times. "Then how did Aunt Jess speak with Cal's parents? Does she know they are dead?" He furrowed his brows. Ghosts were in the same subject as the cards that his dad didn't want him to study, and the Rune stones that he had in his back pack. Clearly, having an adult understand that there was – something else out there merited further discussion. Her latent tears, though, informed him that now was not the time.

He shivered. "It has to do with that thing, that – what did Willie call it - the family crest of Kent Fordham. There was a guy that tried to kill Anthony yesterday, and Sheriff Metzger was able to stop him in time. He almost got me too, and he was wearing a signet ring with it, like the Freemasons do with their rings." He frowned some more. "If they know that we know what to look for, what's stopping them from taking off the rings and putting them in their pockets when they want to do someone harm so they can't be identified?"

Tipper sighed. "Most of the people involved with it never have hurt anyone. When family crests were important, it was to show who was who in battle. They are waging a battle - against all that is good and pure in the world and they don't care that the innocent are hurt. They wear it so that the people they harm know who is doing it, and why. They don't care who else they hurt."

"Willie cares…So does Taylor," said Frank softly.

"Yes, they do. Which brings me to the question, why are you over here, and they are over there? Aren't they supposed to be watching you?" she asked, curious but aware that Frank had been upset when she first arrived.

"I screwed up, and I am grounded. And nothing I was going to do today seemed like it was going to turn out right. I came over here to have some space. I guess the last few days have been hard on everyone, and we are stretched a bit thin … Dr. Henderson? What did Aunt Jessica mean when she said that Lucky would only be here for the summer, and that they would come get her? If they are dead … then that means … does that mean …" Frank couldn't finish what he was going to say.

"I don't know. I checked her over when she was under and she is fine - healthy. Things happen, though, that we don't understand and the best thing I can say is, enjoy every day with her."

"Maybe Aunt Jessica heard people talking about them and she knew they had a dog, and her memory put things together, couldn't that have happened?" asked Frank, trying to fathom what was unexplainable to him.

"It could be - but it wouldn't have explained how she knew that there was still a piece of quill stuck between Lucky's teeth."

"So, Aunt Jessica actually saw a ghost?"

Tipper looked down at Lucky, who was watching Frank with his animated gestures. "I wasn't there. I don't know what she saw. She may have spoken with them prior to their trip to Portland and been told about the suspected quill then - Jessica isn't the type to believe in ghosts," Tipper replied softly. She took a breath then became serious. "Now, Lucky has the habit of eating anything she can get a hold of - screen doors, wooden steps, rubber gloves, wallets, VCR tapes - anything. She especially has a fondness for porcupines. She should never have chocolate, people food, or marshmallows because she will become very sick, and you will have to clean up after her. The exception is uncooked carrots. She can have a few of them as a treat. She has her citizenship papers, which means she's registered as a dog that can go places with you on a lead, but always ask first, okay? She has a lot of energy, and needs to be walked every day. We have Scooper laws here too, so take some bags with you when you walk her."

It was later that Tipper helped him lock up Jessica's house and then went to Taylor's where she watched as Lucky was introduced to Sydney in the back yard. There was some barking back and forth, and then Lucky was down on the ground yelping with Sydney clamped on her ear for a moment. Lucky stayed down as Sydney released her grip and walked away. Frank could see Lucky watch her as she trotted away and in a moment she was to her feet following her as if nothing had happened.

"But she could swallow Sydney with one bite!" said Frank, amazed.

Tipper ruffled his hair. "I suspect that Sydney would wiggle all the way down," she said with a smile as she went to the door and knocked. While Frank was staying there and could enter as he pleased, it was still too early in the morning to just breeze inside uninvited. Taylor came to the door and opened it. She saw Lucky sitting beside Sydney and the puffiness of Tipper's face. Holding the door open for them she called Sydney in. Lucky sat there looking at Frank, who patted his leg for her to follow. Tail between her legs, Lucky entered into Sydney's house and sat almost as soon as she entered. For a moment Sydney stood regarding Lucky, then with a turn of her tail she trotted off. Lucky rose and walked carefully on the linoleum floor over to the water dish, and then the bowl of kibble. Sniffing both, she sighed and walked to Frank, pressing herself against him.

"How come she is acting different here than at Aunt Jessica's?" asked Frank, curious.

"It's Sydney's house, and Sydney's shown her that she is in charge here," explained Tipper.

Both dogs turned and looked as Willie came up the basement steps carefully holding the oilcloth wrapped object. Frank saw that Tipper didn't seem too curious about it. Willie nodded to Tipper as he strode into the dining room where he had laid sheets of butcher block paper down to protect the table. Tipper watched as Frank stood very still, looking sad. Most boys at eleven would be right there, asking about the sword and wondering if it had belonged to a pirate or a warrior, asking about how it came to be. Frank, though, was working things over in his mind. Tipper saw Willie unwrap the cloth from the sword and stepped closer. It wasn't the one that she remembered from years before. The memory of Taylor falling, her outstretched hands grasping the sword as she went down, the intricate weavings and stone beneath her fingertips. Curious, Tipper stepped forward. "That's not the same sword, is it?" she asked.

"Aye, it is. Minus the gems tha' his grand father blackmailed from Lord Frederick Cavendish's widow before his death, which have since been returned to her surviving family." Willie looked at Frank. "Come here," he said a bit sternly. Frank took a step back, his lips pressed tight. He wasn't sure if he would do better to run out the door or up the steps to lock himself in the bathroom, but then he saw Willie's face soften.

"Come here, please. I won't bite your head off twice. What's done is done and said, there isn't any taking it back now," he said. Frank walked over to him followed by Lucky, who sat as soon as he stopped. She sniffed Willie carefully, decided that he was all right, and settled down underneath the table.

"Yes, I was upset this morning. I don't condone things being poked about without permission. I've talked it over with Taylor, and she agrees that this one time you won't be grounded for your actions or words."

Frank took in a sharp breath." Why?" he asked.

"Owing that you showed me something about the sword that I didn't know myself, or more precisely, the scabbard. Back when it all began there had to be ways to keep things secret and to get them safe across large distances. Of all the things that were taken during the exodus of the moors, it was my great-grandfather and this sword that my great-great-grand father held dear. He left 'most everything else behind. It is very dear to me because all of the history that I have of my family, of my life, has been said upon this sword. It's like what you have here, a diary of everything important in my world, the one that I had to leave behind. I don't expect you to understand what it means to me, how hard it was to have it missing from my life for all those years, or what it felt like to get it back, to be reunited with one so dear to my family and me… One chamber of this sword is known to my family, but another was not until today. I don't know what it contains. But it is going to come to light today."

Willie took a breath, and then began to untie the leather lacing that held the scabbard together. At first all that Tipper saw were the long bindings coming away, and she thought he was undoing the entire scabbard. She realized that the scabbard was really one with an outer layer of hardened leather, the original being hidden beneath the first. Carefully Willie picked at the bindings, and eventually was able to release the last string that held the outer wrap secure. He closed his eyes and took a breath.

Tipper came to her senses. "Wait! You don't want to touch whatever is in there with your bare hands."

Willie looked at her, confused. "Why not?"

"Well, first you don't know what germs are packed in there after all of this time, and second, the acid in your hands could damage it. Hang on …" she said, ducking out to go to her car and returning with a pair of latex gloves. "Never leave home without them," she said softly.

Once free of the bindings, the outer layer of the sheath sprung upward slightly, allowing Willie to carefully remove it from the inside layer. Frank watched, fascinated as the two layers parted. He didn't know what to expect - maybe some gold, or a pirate's treasure map, or - something. He didn't expect to see several folded papers that needed to be gently removed from the leather. Willie set them aside and then looked at the remainder of the sheath before sliding it to one side.

The vellum was as crisp as the day it was sealed within the sword. Willie carefully edged the papers open and saw that it was a map. What the map was of made him think, and the third paper made him pull up a chair and sit down.

"What is it?" Willie was breathing a bit hard. When he looked up at them they saw his face was white. "Well, the good news is that my great-great grand father was a good man. He found out something, and it cost him dearly… I – I knew about this – well, part of this, from Gram. It's how I knew who owned the gem stones, but I didn't know the whys, or have proof." He couldn't say more. Not just then.

Frank saw that there was writing, and a list of names. "What's that?"

Willie closed his eyes for a moment. "It's like your Declaration of Independence. These men were fighting for something they believed in. This is a map of places that they could go knowing that they would be safe - the homes of the people who were within the group. My great-great-grandfather's home is on the map, but he is na on the list. This bit here - Phoenix Park… two innocent men were murdered there with surgical knives that belonged to my great-great-grandfather. One of them was married to a young lass who had the misfortune of falling in love with two men at the same time, and to have it discovered by accident by a young maid who was tending to the care of children during a visit by Peter Furhdaham and his wife two months before the murders in the park. The maid's name was Claira, and she disappeared the very night that her two charges died, Essian Furhdaham and Sellsir Razanur. Her last note said she was the one responsible for Essian's death. It was also on that night that the Phoenix Park murders happened."

"Your family doesn't kill," Frank stated firmly.

He saw a look of sadness in Willie's eyes. "Na, they don't. But under the roof that they shared with the Furhdaham's there was death aplenty."

"Furhdaham? That sounds a lot like Fordham," said Tipper, coming over from where she had been standing.

There was an insurmountable amount of pain that crept into the face of Willie. "My great-great-aunt was married to Peter Furhdaham, son of Douglas, whose name is on this list. When they became husband and wife, as part of the marriage the Furhdahams moved into one side of the estate, and the Razanurs on the other. His daughter Fainwen was the mother of Essian, and they were expecting another when tragedy came upon the family that night. The child Essian was run over by a carriage, and Fainwen's younger sister Sellsír took her own life. Fainwen's grief took her within a week. Soon after, Great-Great-Grandfather Razanur took his only son Cónenardhon across the moors to keep him safe, and to start a new life. Things began to go badly then for Douglas Furhdaham. His son Peter was arrested for being part of this group, and he died in prison. Douglas's life turned to hate, and he passed that on to the only child he had left, young Ian, who is grandfather to Kent Fordham and his brother Stephen, who kept the Furhdaham name. He was found with this blade through his gullet one morning. A nasty bit that," Willie said softly.

Frank regarded the parchments and the leather sheath, and frowned. "Willie, have you ever been to the estate where all this happened?"

Willie's eyebrows went up. "Once, when I was younger, we went past the gates of the long drive to it. Gram said it wasn't safe for us to go farther, but she said that I should know where it was."

"It had a long driveway then?" Frank persisted.

"Aye," Willie said simply.

"Well, who was leaving?" asked Frank

"Pardon?" asked Taylor, a bit shaken, breaking her silence.

"Who was leaving? If they were coming, then they would have stopped at the house. Someone was leaving the estate that night, and the only one missing was Claira. She was just a maid - she couldn't have warranted the use of the carriage. She would have to have walked out on foot, unless some one was coming to get her," he said, shrugging.

"I don't know. There was a lot that we never learned about that night, except the sorrow that followed," murmured Willie.

"I don't think the reason Peter was arrested was because he was in the group. His name isn't on the list, his dad's is," stated Frank, regarding the list.

Taylor sighed. "Sins of the father, Frank. If they knew that his father was involved then they had the right to take the son, as they felt if one was guilty, the other must be."

"But they didn't have the list, and the warrant was for Peter, not his father. What if it was for him being a blackmailer, but they couldn't say that because it would bring it all out? And they kept him in prison until the jewels were recovered, but they never were, so he died in there. What happened to Fredrick's widow, anyway?" asked Frank.

"She went into mourning, and he became one larger-than-life in a tragic romantic sense. Churches have stained glass windows bearing his likeness - his sacrifice was akin to a holy person. She published her diary later and lived her life remembering him," said Willie with a sigh as he put the scabbard sheath back together and with careful fingers re-worked the binding back through.

Taylor had stepped into the kitchen and came back with three large plastic bags that sealed flat. Willie nodded to her and put the three documents inside of them. Then giving a sigh he placed the sword in the sheath, and the documents in the plastic bags on top of that, and took the items down the steps to the basement. In a moment he came back up the steps dusting his hands off.

Taylor's quiet voice asked Willie, "What now?"

"Breakfast I'm cooking," said Willie with a grin. "Then lessons for Frank, and then we will go to see Jessica and find out how she is doing, and then dinner, and tea."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

_Taylor had stepped into the kitchen and came back with three large plastic bags that sealed flat. Willie nodded to her and put the three documents inside of them. Then giving a sigh he placed the sword in the sheath, and the documents in the plastic bags on top of that, and took the items down the steps to the basement. In a moment he came back up the steps dusting his hands off._

_Taylor's quiet voice asked Willie, "What now?"_

_"Breakfast I'm cooking," said Willie with a grin. "Then lessons for Frank, and then we will go to see Jessica and find out how she is doing, and then dinner, and tea."_

Frank was nearly finished with his second slice of buttermilk French toast when both dogs looked up at the sound of a car engine coming to a stop outside. He wiggled around to see why there was a reflection of flashing lights on the wall, and sprang up.

"It's Aunt Jessica! She's home!"

Willie's hand came down gently on his arm. "Lad, it will be awhile before she is tucked inside. You have time to finish your last slice, as a gentleman." Frank sat down in his chair and deftly cut the French toast into several squares and chewed on them two at a time.

"And your milk," said Taylor, knowing that it would be the next thing Willie would want. Sighing Frank drank the milk halfway, then ate several more pieces. Without asking he knew that he would be responsible for his dish as well. "May I please be excused?" he asked when he had finished. Willie nodded. Frank sprang up from the chair and went to the sink where he scrubbed off the sticky syrup and then placed the dishes in the dish washer. He looked through the window and saw that the ambulance was still there. Taking a breath he went to Taylor and gave her a hug from behind. "Thank you. Come, Lucky," he said. Lucky moved from the place where she had been under the table and followed him across the properties into Jessica's house. He heard Seth's voice upstairs through the open door and took the steps two at a time as Lucky bounded up ahead of him.

"You are not doing this alone, Jess," Frank heard as he was half way up. He saw Lucky skid to a stop in the doorway and sit, waiting until Frank reached the top of the steps and went down the hall to where Jessica's room was. She was sitting up on her bed in her duster and Seth was holding her hand. Jessica looked up at him. She looked tired and put out, but she smiled as Frank stood in the door. He went to the other side of her bed and climbed up beside her, then looked at Seth. "So what do I have to do?" he asked seriously.

"Keep Jessica in bed, at least until tomorrow. Yes, I know you have a trip, and if Jessica remains on my good side and gets rest today, she may go with you, along with, someone else in case something happens."

"Seth," said Jessica in a warning tone.

He sighed. "Woman, allow me to worry about you! Now, I am going to go next door and prevail upon your neighbors to ensure that you will be looked after while I am at the hospital." Bending over he kissed her cheek and then standing up he ruffled Frank's hair. "Keep her out of mischief for a while, will you?" Frank nodded.

It was after Seth left that Jessica began to sense something wasn't quite right with Frank. You would expect a young boy who was eleven and who had just gotten a new dog to be bounding with excitement. Jessica could see that Frank and Lucky got along fine, and she was well mannered. But his mood had changed since even the day before, when he had been happy to see her. The happiness was still there, but now it was more reserved. He lay down beside her and held her hand. For a moment her eyes closed, then she opened them and said softly, "Want to talk about it?"

"I think I know what it feels like to be an adult, with all the worry and stress that kids put them through. When I started this summer, it was like any other summer – I knew I was going to have fun, and study even though I didn't want to. I've learned a lot about responsibility for one's actions, and it takes the fun away. How do you stand being an adult when you have to keep thinking 'will this cause problems later?'" Frank blurted out.

Jessica turned her head to regard Frank. "Well, being an adult allows you to do more, to do different things that are still fun, and the responsibility is still there, but it's not as reckless."

"Like the difference between walking away from a bully, or being called a coward because you refuse to fight?" he asked, sitting up on the bed so he could speak to her without her moving too much.

"People who refuse to fight are not cowards. It takes a lot of bravery to decide to walk away. During the war there were many people who were told they were brave and heroes, like your uncle Frank. But he didn't feel any different than the day he walked out of the door to go to war. People who are brave do what they have to do when it needs to be done. You don't have to do the extraordinary to be a hero. It doesn't mean that you're not afraid when you're doing it, either. Many heroes are terrified every moment that they are performing their task, but it doesn't mean they lack courage… Did someone call you a coward?" Jessica inquired, looking directly at Frank. Her years of being a teacher had taught her to know when children were telling the truth or not.

"No. But Willie says that he is a coward for not staying and fighting. His sword says, "He who holds the sword, holds the land," and years ago his great-great-grandfather packed up his son and his sword and left a huge estate behind rather than fight for it. And it's all that Willie has left of his family and I - I snuck a look at it last night. Willie said for me not to let him catch me touching it again. The first time that I found it, it fell, and he said it could have cut off my leg. I was careful the next time - but I didn't know the oils in my hand could damage the blade. Then I called him a name that I wasn't supposed to and came here to have some space. Then Dr. Henderson came and brought Lucky, and we went back over to the house and Willie had the sword out and we found papers that showed the other guy had been involved with murdering some people and blackmailing the widow of one of the ones he killed. Willie said there was another compartment of the sword, but he didn't open that. I think he is afraid of what he might learn and that it might change everything. Taylor said I was grounded, but Willie changed his mind because of something, and said that words and actions couldn't be taken back, and that I wasn't grounded any more," he finished, and took a breath to steady himself.

Jessica sighed. "I see…"

"Are you disappointed in me too?" Frank asked in a soft voice.

"Should I be?" responded Jessica.

"I don't know. Before I didn't know what disappointment felt like. I know mum and dad would be disappointed, and have been disappointed in me in the past, but I didn't understand how that felt. They would always want me to do better, and not disappoint them. I wasn't doing the work for them though. I didn't want to do it in the first place, and being disappointed for me, was like not being able to go to the park because it was rainy - it just didn't carry any weight. Now it does, though. It feels … heavy on my chest. It makes me sad now, to remember all the times that Dad said he was disappointed, and now … now I understand. I can't say I won't get into trouble, Aunt Jessica, but I promise I will never disappoint you again," he said firmly.

Frank's boundless energy was put to use doing everything that Jessica needed to have done. Meals were simple - it was the dusting and sweeping and the laundry that were hard, but at least he could tell her that the grass was cut. He realized how much went into keeping a house in order and wondered how adults ever managed to go to work and still have time for their kids. He did get a break, though, briefly when he remembered that Lucky didn't have any food, and a plate from the pantry wasn't what was proper for her to drink out of. Before, he would have been tempted to wander the neighborhood. But now it was down to the market with Lucky in tow, and he did remember to bring plastic bags with him. It was hot and squishy beneath the bag and he screwed up his face as he made sure it was all off the yard. To his relief there was a trash container along the street and he was able to discard it there. He had paid for the dog food and was going out the door when he noticed the wind chime hanging off of the side of the building. Something made Frank go back into the store. There was just the shopkeeper inside and he regarded Frank curiously

"Did you forget something?" he asked.

"That wind chime - you got it at the Nightshade store a while back didn't you?"

The owner of the store nodded. "It's supposed to bring great fortune for all who follow its sign."

Frank looked at Lucky. He turned back to the shop keeper.

"Cal Davis died because a man believed in that symbol. He was half my age."

Giving a tug to Lucky's lead, Frank walked out the door feeling the shopkeeper's eyes on his back. It was a long walk up the hill to Jessica's house. Once inside with the food and the new bowls he read the directions and measured out the food for her. Frank looked around. If there was anything that he had learned from staying at Taylor's, it was that they had to keep the food away from the dog or she would continue to eat it all.

The solution was found in the form of one of Jessica's large plastic tote containers. It was empty and standing up on its end and the bag fit in it perfectly. Dragging it over he put it into the pantry and closed the door, and made sure Lucky had fresh water before going up to where Jessica was. He was surprised to see Willie Mac there, sitting on the bed with Jessica.

"Back so soon?" asked Jessica. "Willie Mac and I were just discussing the bus trip tomorrow night. Tipper will drop us off at the bus station on her way to work. I have confirmed the reservations for the bus, and we will arrive with enough time to get something to eat and be at the school in time for your 10:50 appointment. Do you know what you're going to present?"

"Yes. I have some work to do on it still. Excuse me," he said as he walked out of the room and down to the kitchen. There he pulled out his book and tablet and a single pencil. For a moment he sat looking at the blank page, then taking a breath he began to write. He knew Willie was up with Jessica, and that they were discussing something, and he knew it had to be about him, his actions and what he had called Willie. How long could they be talking about the trip, or her health? He was on the eighth page when he heard the creak of the steps coming down from the upstairs and Willie's footsteps across the hardwood floors.

"I will be coming with you and Jessica tomorrow night for your trip. It's the only way that Dr. Hazlitt would allow the journey for her. Before we spend all that time together, there is something I want to say to you - away from the lady folk." Willie pulled up a chair and took Frank's hand in his.

"It was wrong of me to compare my life, my childhood, and my experiences with how you should behave. It was wrong of me to expect you not to be curious about something like the sword, and it was wrong of me to lay the guilt that I carry upon your shoulders. You were right. At that moment, I was being a bastard. But you have never been a stupid lame-ass idiot, and I have heard that you keep referring to yourself as one. You are not. There is a world of difference between not having intelligence and doing something foolhardy. Can you tell me why you think that way about yourself? Who told you that you were like that?" asked Willie.

Frank shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"Why wouldn't it matter? If someone is saying something that is hurting you, then you need to speak up about it," said Willie firmly.

Frank put up his hand. "Please don't lecture me about something that you're not willing to do yourself."

"And what would that be?" asked Willie.

"Hiding behind something because it is easier than facing it head on," said Frank, getting up from the table and walking across the floor of the kitchen to look out the window at Taylor's house.

Willie didn't say anything at first. He regarded Frank for a while and then said softly, "I suppose your right." He saw Franks shoulders droop a bit.

"It's not something that has a right or wrong answer. It doesn't matter if someone else says it or not because if I believe it to be true, then it is. Eleanor Roosevelt said, 'No one can make you feel inferior unless you let them.' I've done some pretty stupid things, and I have been an ass about other things," said Frank, leaning against the sink.

"Oh, have you now?" Willie said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Frank shifted where he stood and began again. "Two weeks ago I really didn't care about school and learning, and I certainly didn't want to come here. You opened my eyes and let me look at myself, and I don't know if I like what I see that I have become. You made me care. Not that it wasn't in me all along, but it's heavy on me, Willie. I want to be a kid again. I want to be able to go outside to play and not care about people who harm little kids to get to someone else. I deserve better. Cal deserved better too. I don't know if I should hate you for him dying. If you hadn't written that book, maybe he would be alive, as well as those other people too. I know you were trying to prevent others from dying a different way. But if I see that stupid hourglass triangle crest I worry that I may end up like Anthony, or Cal, or that girl who was killed just because. I am eleven, and I feel old. I am scared, Willie - more than I have ever been in my whole life. Does knowing all this make me a target? Or Aunt Jessica? Will someone come after Mum and Dad, or Taylor or Tipper? Because they didn't stop to worry about hurting kids, like Cal or Essian or Sellsir. I knew someday I would have to grow up, but I didn't know it would be so soon. I want to make things better between us - to put aside this doubt and horror that presses in on me from all sides. I want it to be just a bad dream, but I can't wake up from it. I can't…You didn't mean for this to happen. It just did. I just don't know how it can be stopped. Yeah, I have been an ass because I was a kid, and kids push how far they can go. We have to do that to learn. I don't know how else to be sometimes. It's in my nature to be curious. "

Frank took a breath. "And I am sorry I called you a know-it all bastard."

He saw Willie give him a look before he sighed. "Do you even know what it means?"

Frank gave him a puzzled look. "Well, that the person is pretty much a jerk."

Willie ran his fingers through his curly hair, brushing it out of the way of his hazel eyes. "Well, that may be one meaning for it, an' in the future, just say the word 'jerk' if that's what you mean. A bastard is someone who was born out of wedlock." He saw Frank's confusion. "The parents of the child were not married. It cut a bit deep with me Frank, because I have no way of knowing if my parents were married. I was often called a _leanbh díomhaointis_ by the other children, or a foundling by the more polite folk - one who had no parents. Da died before I was born, and my mother left me in the care of Gram."

Frank scrunch up his face. "Have you looked in the other compartment of the sword? You said your family keeps important papers in there."

Frank saw the look on Willie's face as he shook his head. "Knowing that it isn't in there would be just as hard as knowing that it was."

He put his hands on his hips and said to Willie, _"Now _who's the lame-ass idiot?"

"Pardon?" asked Willie, a bit shocked.

"You heard me. You have the sword, you have every chance of finding out the truth, but you don't want to because - why?"

Willie flinched. "I told you before."

"I don't believe you're a coward. A coward wouldn't have stayed with Cal while he was all alone, and a coward certainly wouldn't have agreed to take on the care of a stranger's eleven year old kid. And I don't see Taylor being in love with a coward either. She _is_ in love with you, you know."

"Is she, now? She's told you that?" asked Willie, a bit bemused.

Frank missed his tone. "She didn't need to tell me. I saw how she looks at you, how much she cares for you, and it's just like how my mum loves my dad. If the time here has shown me anything, it's to use what time you have because it can be 'game over' in a second. You should marry her sooner, not later."

Frank saw Willie regard him. "Nothing is certain any more," he said softly.

Frank walked up to him and stuck out his hand "Friendship is, as well as standing by your friends. Aunt Jessica said something to me when I first came here: you don't have to be related by blood to be family. I know, I have a lot of uncles and cousins and aunts, and, well, would you be part of my family?"

Willie took his hand and said softly, "I would be honored." Frank stepped into his arms and gave him a hug. When Willie was released from the hug he looked at Frank, took a breath and said, "Right. So, let's see this report you're giving."

Taylor stood beside Anthony's bed holding his hand. He had slipped in and out of conciseness a few times, and had a series of setbacks. Infections had set in, he didn't respond to some of the treatments and because of one of the medications they had given him, his lungs had begun to fill up with fluid and his liver and kidneys began to shut down. He was placed on a respirator as a precaution . Seth had been honest with her. They didn't know if he was going to get better, and at his rate of decline, it might have been just a matter of time. Tipper had brought her to visit him Taylor could hear her speaking softly to Seth out in the hall. Seth came in with his chart and he asked her to come to a room behind the nurse's desk. Tipper told her that she would stay with Anthony Seth pulled up a chair for her. He looked older than Taylor had ever seen him.

"I've managed to get a hold of his doctor in LA… Taylor, did you know Anthony made you his POA? "

She shook her head. "No. what does that have to do with anything?" she asked.

"Well, simply, your able to make the decisions for him. He has a living will, and while what we are doing doesn't change what his wishes are, for now, if his condition should happen to deteriorate, it, would be up to you to decide what to do.. he also has a DNR signed. "

"Seth, if, I asked for everything to be stopped, the pain medication the drugs they are giving him to control the infection, the respirator, if all of that was taken away- he would die, wouldn't he?" She saw Seth catch his breath before nodding.

"And the court would look at that paper and say, well, that was his wishes… she was just following what he wanted…right? Seth nodded again a bit slower "yes." He saw the tears in her eyes.

"Don't ask me to make that decision." She took a breath. "I know about those things. It is to release the guilt, and, well, it can't. I want you to do everything possible to save him, Seth. If dialysis will help his kidneys, then do that Do what it takes."

Seth took a breath and then looked at her. "It may not be fair of me to ask, but, what would you be saving him for Taylor? Even if he survives this, there is damage to his body that may never heal. There are indications that he may have suffered a stroke. He may never walk again, or be able to feed himself or care for himself…He may not wish to be trapped in a useless body. "

"I can't Seth. I don't believe that he would want anything except to fight for his life- no matter what it may be like. I refuse to allow the DNR to be observed. If something happens, I want you to do what ever it takes to keep him alive, and to heal him."

Seth took her hand. "Taylor. You need to think about what your asking, and what it means to him. Why your asking it. Do you still love him, and is it from guilt because your also in love with Willie Mac- that you can't make these decisions?" She shook her head. "I do care for him. I just don't believe that he would sign something like that. What if he didn't Seth? What if it was forged by someone else – by one of Fordham's followers? What does that make me then? A murderer? If I am his POA, then I am directing that he gets every possible bit of care for his recovery. For how ever long he stays upon this earth."

"All right. So, we save his life. What then? What will become of him? Placement into a nursing home? Take him home with you to be cared for? Or to ship him back to LA to be confined to a room that overlooks the air conditioning units in a halfway house?"

"I don't know. Don't you see? How can I give up on him and ever be happy again? I know that the life that I had thought I wanted 4 yrs ago isn't what it turned out to be, I could never live with myself feeling as if I had murdered him to make way for a new lover."

"I would be disappointed in you if you did. We will do everything that we can to keep him alive, and put him on the road to recovery."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

_She shook her head. "I do care for him. I just don't believe that he would sign something like that. What if he didn't Seth? What if it was forged by someone else – by one of Fordham's followers? What does that make me then? A murderer? If I am his POA, then I am directing that he gets every possible bit of care for his recovery. For how ever long he stays upon this earth."_

"_All right. So, we save his life. What then? What will become of him? Placement into a nursing home? Take him home with you to be cared for? Or to ship him back to LA to be confined to a room that overlooks the air conditioning units in a halfway house?"_

"_I don't know. Don't you see? How can I give up on him and ever be happy again? I know that the life that I had thought I wanted 4 yrs ago isn't what it turned out to be, I could never live with myself feeling as if I had murdered him to make way for a new lover."_

"_I would be disappointed in you if you did. We will do everything that we can to keep him alive, and put him on the road to recovery."_

Willie stood on the back deck looking out over the cove. Tomorrow night he would be leaving to take Frank to his meeting. Half of him wanted to stay, to protect Taylor from what he knew was coming. There were no more reports of people being killed on the highway, and if Kent managed to get a hold of enough money to pay for the gas to drive across the country, up there- it would be another 4 days before he reached Cabot Cove. He took a breath of the sea air and watched the gulls welcome in the lobster boats. He heard the door open behind him and the soft footsteps of Taylor as she came across the deck. She hadn't said much after her return from the hospital. She looked at him and he could tell she had been crying. Silently he took her hand in his and kissed the back of it.

"Tell me," he said simply.

"Seth, spoke to me today about Anthony… about his future, and his care, and told me I was his POA, that I have the legal right to make the decisions regarding his life. I came home and all I could do was look at where the dining room was, and wondering if a hospital bed could be put there- that the powder room could be made into a full bath area- and he would have access to the deck, and the kitchen… and I realized I had no idea how to heal him, but you did, and I was wondering how- could I ask that of you, knowing how he feels about me I know that if any one could heal him, you can, as you healed me."

"Oh lass. Your healing wasn't a miracle, It was simply just, adjusting to what your body needed to find its center."

"Well, maybe he needs that too."

Willie looked once more to the harbor. "If I made him whole again, and he asked you to marry him, as you do love him, would you? If he said it was the only thing that kept him alive this long, the hope that you would come back to him? For the world he knows, will be no longer. He would find his cure, the same way you did, here in this paradise."

Taylor took a breath. "I have heard, that people fall in love with those who heal them… as he would be healed by your hand, would he ask the same of you? Is my love for you only because you have given me new life, or is there more?"

Willie didn't answer her at first. For the longest time he just held her hand and played his thumb over it. "I spoke to Frank today, an he said something that made me do thinking. When his trip to his school is finished. I am going to return home, with the sword, and do what is right by it. I owe it to Gram to finish what was started. It may be awhile before I am able to return." He took a breath and let it out slowly. "I will do what I can for him, and I will start tonight." He said lifting her hand to his lips and kissing the back of it again before striding into the house for some things. Taylor stood on the deck not knowing what to say. She didn't move until long after the taxi had left, and then it was to go into the house and pick up her sketch pad She opened it and began to sketch with her eyes closed against the tears that fell unbridled.

Seth was called by one of the nurses to Anthony's room where he found Willie going over the charts, having disconnected a few of the IV packs they had hung, There was a tray with different herbs laid out, and a paste that had been placed upon Anthony's chest, directly on some of the wound areas. Seth looked at the monitors, then back at Willie.

"Should I ask what your doing?"

"The elemental form is always easier for the body to heal by. All that was taken away there - (he said pointing to the bags) can be found here, and in doses that the body will absorb on its own. Taylor asked me to heal him. I will do my best, no matter what the cost."

"You won't lose her to him, if that's what you're thinking."

"I already have, Dr. Hazlitt. She wishes to take him in, to care for him to the end of his days. If it is by guilt or love, it is her choice… now, in twelve hours the poultice is to be removed, and replaced with fresh every twelve hours. I have pre-combined the ingredients, except for adding the sterilized water, and that is written here. It is to be placed on the same areas in the same amount, and it is very important to watch his hydration. You should have enough until I return with Frank and Jessica Friday evening. He should be able to be removed from the respirator in eighteen hours."

"You've removed his morphine drip… what did you replace it with?" asked Seth, looking over the things that Willie had laid out.

"Belladonna," said Willie softly. "I have a feeling it was causing more problems than it was helping."

Willie arrived at Taylor's home late the next afternoon. He found her very quiet, having made him a light dinner and folded down his bed – his things for the trip were ready.

He took a swallow of his tea and looked across the table at her before saying, "I was thinking Tipper might want to come along, just for a wee bit when I go home."

"You're taking Tipper to Ireland?" asked Taylor, a bit shocked. She grasped the table with her hand.

"Well, yes, just for a few days, not the whole time though. You would be needing a maid of honor, and she seems to be the one who would be chosen for that. Of course Frank would be my best man, and Jessica would come along as a witness to our marriage."

"You haven't asked me to marry you."

"Haven't I? Well, more often there isn't any asking to be done, its just arranged and the bride shows up and then they are married and make lots of children… or at least practice at it for a while." She sat there looking at him, trying to fathom what he had said. He reached over, took her hand and kissed the back of her hand. "And, yes, I will do all that I can to heal Anthony, and take him into our home to recover, if needed, so that someday he will fall in love and marry a woman who deserves a man as special as he is."

"Special?" she asked.

"Aye. Special, for you love him enough to think to give up your life for him. There must be something in the measure of that man for that. And something special in the heart of a woman that cares that much. One I would be honored to call my wife." He took a breath and got down on his knee and pulled a ring from his pocket. Still holding her hand he pressed his lips to it and slipped the ring on her finger.

"Oh …"

"Is that a yes?"

"If you just need the bride to show up, do you need the answer?" she asked.

He tilted his head. "Would you be showing up then at our wedding?"

Taylor leaned forward and kissed him. "Aye," she said, whispering to him, afraid of any other volume least it lead to shouting.

Frank was too wired to sleep, at first. He knew in a few hours he would have to be up to get on the bus, and that it would be a long trip, but he wasn't sure if he could fall asleep on the bus as easy as Willie could fall asleep on the plane. Tipper picked them up in plenty of time and delivered them to the bus station where Willie helped Jessica up on the bus. Frank regarded Tipper seriously. "If something should happen, could you see that Lucky goes to a good home? And I know you will take care of Taylor, and tell my Mom and Dad that I love them, okay?"

She didn't dismiss his fears. She gave him a long hug and said, "I will… I am very proud of you, Frank."

"Really? Why?"

"Just because. Good luck!" He got on the bus, pausing to regard the driver and his hands to be sure there were no rings or pendants on him. Going midway into the bus and looking at everyone on it, he slipped over Willie and Jessica to sit by the window so he could wave goodbye to Tipper. He turned and looked at Willie. "Can I marry her when I grow up?" he asked.

"It would be up to her, you know. But I don't see her being the type to object if you wanted to bring a snake or a wolf cub home one day. Not many ladies would be that understanding," said Willie with a twinkle in his eyes.

At first Frank was a bit wiggly in his seat as he tried to see everything around him. There wasn't much to look at outside unless they went through a town, and while seeing Salem Massachusetts may be exciting by day, it just was another town along the way. Frank tried to stay awake, but the warmth of a comforting arm about him was too much for him and he found himself falling fast asleep against Willie's shoulder. Jessica fell asleep next, and for a bit, Willie stayed awake watching Frank Jr. sleep. The bus made a few stops before continuing its drive down the coast. Willie wiggled his feet, trying to keep himself awake, but the steady rumble of the engines were too much for him to resist and he felt his eyes closing.

At 4 am the bus rolled to a stop in front of its last pickup for the route. Willie opened his eyes and looked around. Many of the people had taken the moment to stand up and stretch their legs, or to avail themselves of the rest stop facilities. Willie opened his eyes part way when those who got off of the bus returned to it and began to board again. His hand slipped into his pocket for a moment, then withdrew as the seats began to fill up. They had just loaded the last of the passengers and were about ready to depart when there was a knock on the outside door and the driver opened it to allow one more passenger on. Willies fingers played over the cell phone keyboard, and paused over the send button. At first he breathed a sigh of relief as a woman's head was seen rising up from the steps, but then frowned as the woman walked forward. Willies finger hit the send button and he placed the phone back into his pocket. The woman came down the aisle and sat in the seat across from Jessica, who was still sleeping. Willie looked down at Frank, who had moved his head to snuggle next to his shoulder. It would be over soon, one way or the other.

Jessica lifted her head as the bus came to a stop. She looked down the aisle and saw the flashing lights ahead of her and that they were letting the cars through one at a time. Beyond the police cars was a trestle bridge. Frank woke too and looked out. "What's going on?"

Willie shrugged. "Maybe one of those sobriety check points."

The driver opened the door to allow a state policeman onto the bus. They had quiet words, then the driver handed the State trooper the mike.

"I'm sorry, folks, but due to the high water level we're restricting weight going over the bridge. You will have to get out and walk over the bridge before the bus goes over it. We ask that on your return journey you take an alternate route home. Thank you."

The moment the trooper stepped off of the bus Willie heard the woman sitting next to Jessica sigh in relief. Willie snagged Frank's backpack and helped Jessica stand, then let them get off the bus before he did. He felt something poke into his back from the person behind him.

"Where is it?" a voice hissed down at him.

Willie didn't answer. He knew that if he died the secret of the sword would stay safe. He had found a different place to hide it, a better one that even Taylor didn't know about. One that small children couldn't get into, or fire or flood - it would remain safe. He looked back up at Kent and grinned "You are a very ugly woman," he said dryly. There was a roar of a helicopter coming in with search lights illuminating the outside. Willie felt Kent's arm about his body as his gun came up and pressed tighter against him.

Frank had stepped off the bus first, and turned to help Jessica down the last of the step when he saw the state police on ether side of the door with their guns drawn and ready. He looked back up into where Willie was and saw the gun, then Willie give a small shake to his head. Frank took Jessica's hand and pulled her away from where she was standing. Jessica was about to tell him to slow down when she heard the state police behind her yell, "FREEZE!" She turned and saw Willie with the gun pressed to his jaw and the determination of Kent who had nothing to lose. Frank pulled Jessica's hand back

"Drop them or the bus gets a new paint job!" snarled Kent.

Frank looked at Willie, then back at Kent who wore a triumphant grin. Bending over Frank picked up several good sized pebbles from the side of the road.

"CLADHAIRE!" he yelled, flinging one at Kent's head. It hit his shoulder and he snarled in irritation. " DAMNU CLADHAIRE!" Another stone smacked against Kent's jaw. Willie took a step down and bent forward, pulling Kent off of the step behind him. The two men tumbled to the ground. Willie raised his fist and cracked Kent across the jawline. "Tha's for Gram," he said. Another whack. "An tha's for Da, and tha's for Cal," said Willie, back handing Kent hard across the mouth. Willie grabbed the fallen gun and shoved it under Kent's jaw. "It was pointed out to me that blackmail was the reason Peter went to prison, payment for his own crimes, na his father's. Your kin shed their own blood and hunted mine to ease their guilt. It ends now."

Kent laughed. "Aye, it ends for you as well…leanbh díomhaointis."

Willie gave Kent a smile. "The sword speaks otherwise. Tabhairt isteach do?"

Looking up, Willie handed the gun to the state police officer and stood up. He watched them as they handcuffed and shackled Kent, who struggled against the restraint. With sudden strength he broke free from them and tried to run the best he could away towards the bridge. Four shots rang out, each hitting Kent's body, giving him the illusion of dancing under the search light. Willie turned Frank away from it, hiding his face against his rough coat. Jessica wrapped her arms around them, holding them as a final shot rang out.

Frank asked softly, "Is it over?"

Willie sighed. "I don't know lad, maybe for a while until it's all figured out."

When they were back on the bus and on their way Frank looked at his back pack and then opened it up and pulled out his note pad and a pencil.

"Do you need a wee bit of light, lad?" asked Willie as he looked down at his split knuckles. Frank nodded. Willie reached up and turned on the overhead light and pointed it in Frank's direction.

Because of the delay they had missed the connector bus and had to wait an hour before they were able to get onto the next one, and then it only could drop them off two blocks from where the school was. Jessica looked at her watch. "Oh dear…"

Frank took a breath. "Don't worry Aunt Jessica, I can go on ahead. Take your time getting there, okay? I have a feeling this report will take a while for them to hear," he said, then sprinted off down the block.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

_When they were back on the bus and on their way Frank looked at his back pack and then opened it up and pulled out his note pad and a pencil. _

"_Do you need a wee bit of light, lad?" asked Willie as he looked down at his split knuckles. Frank nodded. Willie reached up and turned on the overhead light and pointed it in Frank's direction. _

_Because of the delay they had missed the connector bus and had to wait an hour before they were able to get onto the next one, and then it only could drop them off two blocks from where the school was. Jessica looked at her watch. "Oh dear…" _

_Frank took a breath. "Don't worry Aunt Jessica, I can go on ahead. Take your time getting there, okay? I have a feeling this report will take a while for them to hear," he said, then sprinted off down the block_.

Frank set his papers down into the folder and let out a long breath. For a few seconds there was only silence, then the scrape of a chair as the principal stood. "That is the most preposterous fabrication I have ever heard. Leprechauns, murder, and shootouts? Young man, you have taken enough of our time. My decision stands."

"Well, yeah, I guess it would, seeing how you think you know the truth," said Frank, digging through the papers in his folder.

"I beg your pardon?"

Frank came forward and laid several sheets on the table in front of his English teacher. She flipped through them and then looked up at Frank, who was backing away from the table.

"I don't understand," she said softly.

"His ring … look at his ring!" gasped Ms. Shellie as she pointed to the photograph that was underneath the article regarding the young girl's death.

"It's just a ring," he said, shrugging. "And it changes nothing. Leprechauns, indeed."

"It's nae just a ring, it is a symbol for all that is evil in the world today, starting with the killing of innocence," said Willie Mac from the doorframe. He strode forward carrying Frank's back pack. Opening it, he pulled out a book and put it down on the table.

"The silly part of it all is most ha nae read the book at all, or bothered to think about what it all meant. There is no wealth or power that could be granted by wearing the crest of that family. All that they have ever gained was through murder, and trickery."

Jessica came up to the table where the principal was and asked him softly, "Did you know that Kent Fordham has been recaptured this morning? He has but a month to live before he is executed for the murders he committed, and for the distribution of illegal narcotics to young people. I have to ask, if I might - why did you let him know Frank was coming here? You had to have known he would be on the bus."

The principal looked at Jessica and scoffed. "It wasn't that stupid idiot they were after, it was you. You were on his list of people to – take care of – one way or the other. If you hadn't been so nosy, he never would have been caught. If something happened to him, the others have orders to deal with those who were involved as well."

Willie saw Frank flinch at the principal's words. Several of the teachers moved away from him, not sure what he was capable of at this point. He regarded the principal. "You don't get it, do you? All of what you believe in was made up by Fordham. You were a puppet and he pulled the strings. His family and he have been lying about things for decades, just so that they wouldn't have to deal with the responsibility of their actions - blackmail, theft, rape and murder. One of your group was responsible for telling someone to try and kill Anthony, and many people innocent of it all, including a boy named Cal, were in the way. He was five. His parents died on impact. The seat belt that is supposed to save lives ripped up his insides and snapped his ribs as if they were toothpicks. What sort of a man is worth following who brings that upon children?"

The principal smirked. "In war, there are always sacrifices, and the death of innocents."

There were footsteps in the hall, then into the classroom as several state police entered and went to where the principal sat. "Would you come with us, sir, to answer some questions?" asked the sergeant politely.

Frank looked at Ms. Peters as she shifted in her seat and saw something that glistened in the sunlight. Clearing his throat he interrupted the sergeant as he began to read the principal his rights. "Um, you may want to talk to Ms. Peters as well," he began. Willie caught her hands as she suddenly tried to reach across for her purse. Somehow Frank knew there wasn't just lipstick in it.

When the two of them had been led away leaving the stunned assembly of teachers behind, Willie stepped up to the table and placed his hands on it, leaning towards Mr. Murphy. "Right now, Frank's Aunt an' I stopped in your classrooms and turned on the air. Couldna hear a word from where the ones in the back like Frank were sitting the whole term. Did ye never sit back there yourself, lad, or wonder why Frank was squinting so at the board?"

Frank saw Miss Shellie look at Mr. Murphy. "I did. You were there, Carol, when I reported to both of them that I had my concerns about Frank's vision." She turned to Frank. "I even tried to have a letter sent to your parents in regards to it, but that didn't pass approval by Wally. I am sorry, Frank, that we failed your needs."

Shrugging, Frank said softly, "It's okay. If I hadn't failed myself, I never would have had the summer that I have had already, now would I?"

Carol cleared his throat. "Well, then, the next thing that we have to do is arrange follow-ups weekly visits, and note your progress with the program."

Scrunching up his face but not saying anything, Frank looked at Jessica.

"Mr. Murphy, I understand your concern regarding Frank's summer English classes, but are weekly visits back here really necessary? Wouldn't written progress reports be better? It's a ten hour trip here, then another ten hours back by bus, and would become a great expense to continue over the next eight weeks, unless the school board is going to pay for that cost?"

"The school board has been very firm regarding the tutoring of students by teachers who are not board certified by the district. We can't have just anyone taking over there education."

"Aunt Jessica isn't just anyone!" said Frank, trying very hard not to shout. "Nor is Willie Mac," Frank continued as he pushed the book _Belladonna_ at Mr. Murphy.

Carol Murphy looked down at the book and sighed. "Being a writer isn't quite the qualifications that the school board would approve of," he said gently.

"Even if that writer graduated from Cambridge and is a doctor or that my Aunt Jessica has taught English longer than Ms. Peters has been alive?" asked Frank, exasperated.

Jessica laid her hand on Frank's shoulder. "It's all right, Frank."

Willie shook his head. "Nae, it just won't do. Mr. Murphy, Mrs. Fletcher is quite capable of overseeing her nephew's quality of education throughout the summer, an' has been certified by the State of New York to teach at their universities for both English an' criminology. If your board does not recognize the tri-state's certification over a district one, then your rules need to be changed a bit, an' he won't be available to be coming back here next week or the weeks to follow He has another matter to attend to. You will be getting a report of his progress by mail, and seeing him in the fall."

"Won't be available?" asked Shellie, curious.

Jessica looked at Frank, then at Willie. "He will be traveling to visit relatives."

Something in the way her eyes twinkled and the look that she gave Willie caused Carol Murphy to sit back in his chair. For the longest time he looked at Jessica. "Forgive me, but have we met before?" he asked, perplexed. "I keep thinking I have seen you before."

Frank giggled. "Well, um, you do like mysteries." He turned and saw Willie giving Jessica a curious look.

Carol Murphy looked at the remaining teachers, waiting for his decision. Miss Shellie gave a nod to him. He would have to speak with her later, but by the look she was giving Jessica, it was clear she felt Frank would exceed the requirements for the course.

"Well, visiting relatives won't be an answer that I can give the school board that they would accept. Where exactly do they live? Perhaps a review at one of their schools would suffice…"

"Across the big pond," said Jessica, her eyes twinkling as she saw Franks confusion over the reference.

"Well, there you go," said Miss Shellie. "There is no way they can expect him to come back for a half hour review, and I for one don't see a problem with his tutors, do you?" she asked directly.

Carol Murphy sighed. "All right. I will inform them of the change, and I expect a full summery when it arrives, as well as a written presentation of your report. Is that understood, young man?"

Frank nodded. "Yes sir. Thank you." He looked down as his belly grumbled loudly, then up a bit sheepishly

"Well, I can see by the clock on the wall that it's time for lunch. Would you care to join us?" asked Mr. Murphy as the rest of the teachers began to stand and stretch a bit.

"Um, is it cafeteria food?" asked Frank, screwing up his face as if he had stepped in a pile of wiggling worms.

Miss Shellie laughed. "Oh, no. We had it catered."

Willie looked at Jessica and Frank, then back to the teachers. "Thank you for your offer, but we will decline - we have some things to discuss before we are to catch the bus for the ride home." He looked at Frank. "Gather your things, that's a good lad."

Frank walked alongside the low wall musing that the summer, as short as it had been, was proving to be a bit more than he expected. He listened as Willie made a brief call to Mort informing him about the developments, and to keep an eye out for any activities. Jessica had spoken to Mort as well, telling him of two people she knew that may have had a connection to Fordham that were still in Cabot Cove. Frank insisted on stopping at the flower shop and it didn't take long for him to pick out and pay for the flowers to be sent off to Miss Shellie. Once that was done, they walked to the bus station and checked the schedule. It was a bit late for the lunch crowd at the neighborhood deli that was next to the bus station.

Frank stood and looked at the menu and said "Anything that moo's" to Jessica.

Unwrapping his double cheese burger, Frank regarded Willie. Something Jessica had said earlier had startled Willie, and Frank could tell that either it was a slip, or that there was something bigger that was happening. He glanced at the clock. They still had half an hour to go before they needed to get in line to board the bus home.

"I know you have a lot of relatives Aunt Jessica, but what state is the town of Big Pond in and who lives there?" he asked her, but kept his eyes on Willie.

Jessica opened her purse up and pulled out a small cardboard envelope that contained a photograph in a plastic evidence bag. She placed it on the table as she looked at Willie. She saw that the photo didn't bring any emotion to his face, and realized he had never seen it before. Taking a slow breath she said to Willie, "When you first claimed the sword, you showed Mort what was in the chamber of the sword and this happened to fall away. It wasn't until later that Mort found it, and made the connection. He gave it to me in the hospital after verifying that the photo was genuine. It's how he knew Frank would be in good hands." She turned it over revealing the words on the back. Frank could tell by Willie's sharp intake that it was something important. Craning his neck he tried to read the upside down writing.

What he could make out was a year, and the scrawl, "Mac…" Taking a bite of his cheese burger Frank chewed it slowly. "But how does that involve me? 'Mac?' She's your mum? But she looks like Aunt Jessica," said Frank before he noticed that Willie was gripping the table to prevent from falling over.

"Short for MacGill," said Jessica softly. "Most of us look alike, and there is no doubt in my mind that your mother is one of the clan MacGill."

"Oh, well, I've told Taylor that I will be marrying her and tha' I would have you as my best man, an' Jessica for a witness. Tipper, if she would come, will be her maid of honor," said Willie, still distracted by the photo he now held in his hands.

"You told her you're marrying her? You didn't ask her first?" gasped Frank.

"I didn't want her to say no… Finish tha' like a gentleman, and let's go home," said Willie helping Jessica up. "We've packing to do," he said, slipping the photo in his coat pocket.

AN: Yes the story will be continued. If you have reached this point, please take a moment more and review the story!

You can read the entire series as well other great works on Anne's wonderful site. Just google

" The Definitive Guide to _Murder, She Wrote"_

_kats._


	26. Chapter 26

Come Across the Big Pond

Part One…

_**Tar ar an tAigéan**_

_Disclaimer. I don't own the characters that are found in the Murder She Wrote TV series, or in the book form. They are the property of someone else. I __*** **__do * own the characters that I created. The character of Dr. Tipper Henderson was created by Anne, and is used with her permission. To read more about the adventures of Tipper, Google Murder She Wrote and go to the "Definitive Guide to Murder She Wrote." This story (Tabhairt Isteach Do ) is several stories within one, starting with A Picture Perfect Murder, then The Ghost of Preston Giles, Murder by Trust, and Till Deadly Do We Pact, and the ones that follow this adventure. It was broken up into chapters and placed on as such to make it easier to read._

_Authors note & warning… This story has a warning of 13+ due to language, beliefs and customs that may offend some people's sensibilities._

_If you have traversed this far, please sign a review so that I know you have read it! Don't be shy! _

_Kats_

© May 18th, 2006. Finished June 9th, 2006.

Frank leaned against the window of the bus and pulled out his pencil and note pad. He looked at Jessica, who had nodded off - It had been a lot of walking for her to go the two blocks, then up all of the stairs to the classroom, then to the diner and then back the two blocks where they caught the bus back to the bus station in time to make the trip back to Cabot Cove. They would arrive at midnight, and Sheriff Metzger would pick them up at the bus station and take them home. Frank didn't know when they would be leaving for the wedding, but there were one or two things he had to do first.

Willie's knuckles were a bit banged up, and Frank could see the bandages they had gotten at the corner drug store would have to be replaced when they got home. Aunt Jessica had said something about getting a tetanus shot, and Willie had mumbled something about rabies as well.

Flipping open the note pad, Frank licked the end of his pencil and began to write.

"_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_Aunt Jessica says that I can send the company you work for this letter and they will forward it to you wherever you are. I wanted to let you know what was going on so that if you call and there is no answer at Aunt Jessica's you won't worry. You know that I met a man named Willie Mac, and I told you he had moved in next door to stay with Aunt Jessica's neighbor Ms. Andrews. Well, when Aunt Jessica fell, I got to stay with them on the advice of Sheriff Metzger and we found out something very cool. Willie Mac is really a MacGill! Sheriff Metzger found a photo of Willie's mum and it looks a lot like Aunt Jessica, but it's not. Aunt Jessica says there are a lot of MacGills that look like her so it could be any of her cousins. Anyway, life here in Cabot Cove, Aunt Jessica says to tell you, is going "as usual." She said that you would know what that meant and not to worry - everyone's been taken care of. _

_A lot of things have happened. I don't use the internet as much as I did before because I have been busy learning how to card wool and weave and dye materials with Willie. He is a really cool guy. Aunt Jessica says he is a Doctor of Biology, and he has his medical doctorate from Cambridge._

_Mum, you know when you said you packed my passport and I asked you what I would be needing it for and you said, "you never know"? Well … I do now! I am going to be traveling to Ireland with Aunt Jessica, Willie Mac and Ms. Andrews and Dr. Henderson, if she can get away for a while. Willie Mac TOLD Ms. Andrews that they were getting married because he didn't want to give her the chance to say no, and he asked me if I can be his best man because I helped to get the two of them together. I suggested that they get married. They don't do the mushy kissy stuff like some people do when they are dating, but they keep looking at each other like, well, when you look in on me when I am sleeping just to watch me breathe. I don't know when we are leaving, but Willie Mac says that the wedding will happen almost right away when we get to the village he lived in and then we are going to spend some time going over old records to investigate some things, like what Aunt Jessica does best. I know if I tell you not to worry, you will worry just because._

_I have learned a lot while I am here and one of the things I learned was what it means when someone is disappointed in you. I understand it now. I really do. I feel like I am growing up a lot in the short time that I have been here. I promise not to disappoint you ever again (if I can possibly help it). The review by the school board that they didn't tell you about went ok. They have agreed that I don't have to come back for any more, I only have to have reports sent in when I have completed stuff. My new glasses are working out pretty well, and Willie MacGill gave them heck because where I was sitting in the class room - well, even he said he couldn't hear or see what was going on, so I guess there will be some changes there. _

_Love, _

_Frank."_

He closed his note book and shoved it into his back pack. He knew when they got home there would be time enough for the stamp and the envelope. Looking over at Willie, Frank saw a five o'clock shadow on Willie's face, and the concern that clouded his eyes. Frank reached over and took Willie's hand in his.

Willie looked over at him, a bit surprised. "Something amiss, lad?"

Frank shook his head and shrugged. "I'm just glad that you're a part of my family," he said simply.

Donald Brook strode through the hospital hallway up to the nurses station and presented his ID to the nurse on charge. She glanced at it, then regarded the stout man with the salt and pepper hair and twinkling blue eyes. He could have been a movie star in another life - though being a lawyer was sometimes enough notice that anyone could want. She pressed the button to allow him entrance into the closed ward of ICU.

As he approached Anthony's room he could hear voices that he recognized, Seth's and Taylor's, and one other he didn't know, all behind a curtain. Clearing his throat he heard the conversation stop. Seth pulled the curtain back and regarded him, then with a nod allowed him to step into the cubical where Anthony lay swaddled in bandages. There was just a clump of his sandy red hair peeking out, his eyes were still closed and his swarthy complexion had the look of being scrubbed clean. Taylor looked up at Donald's entrance and smiled. He walked over to her side and gave her a brief hug, then shook hands with Seth and regarded the administrator, who was fuming with anger. A low moan came from Donald as he gripped the edge of the bed for support. He had heard from Jessica that Anthony had been in an accident, but didn't know the extent of his injuries. It was painful for him to see his old friend so close to death.

Donald felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. Taylor gave him a smile. "He is doing much better, Donald."

"Exactly my point!" said Seth to the other man in the room. Donald turned and regarded the man, whose smock said "Dr. Geoffrey Marshall, Hospital Administration." The man looked, in Donald's opinion, just like a ferret. His bright beady eyes peered suspiciously at Donald, and then he turned back to Seth.

"The man is not licensed to practice medicine in the state of Maine. Bits of plants placed directly in the wound, disconnecting the prescribed IV's - who knows what all!"

"I am his POA, and I authorized it. Two days ago, Anthony was dying from drug interactions. He has a chance now - more than he had before, and it's no thanks to your medicine, which was nearly the death of him before."

Donald looked quizzically at Taylor, then to Seth, and the administrator. "Has his care been compromised by this treatment?" Donald asked Seth.

"No. There is no indication of detrimental effects to the current treatment plan. Dr. Razanur has helped to stabilize Anthony's condition. I happen to agree with him regarding the side effects of some of the drugs that were given to Anthony, and if the result is that patches of poultice do much better than the chemical version, my vote would be to go with what is working. He is off the respirator, breathing on his own, and his blood gas levels are the best I have seen since his admittance …"

"The issue is, they want to charge for his care, but they can't because it wasn't their doctors who were treating him," said Taylor with a bemused grin.

"Is he stable enough to travel?" inquired Donald as he went to his friend's side and picked up his free hand. It was warm and soft and leathery feeling, and reminded him of kidskin gloves.

Seth regarded Donald, then looked at Taylor who was suddenly studying the pattern of the bed sheet beneath her hands. "Not for awhile. Where would you be taking him? Isn't that a decision for his POA?" Seth saw Donald nod.

"It is. It is why I am here. The insurance carrier would like him closer to home as soon as possible and to be evaluated for long term care. I've already found someone to care for him and a facility that specializes in durational management." Donald saw tears form in Taylor's eyes. "Perhaps we might discuss this in a conference room?" he asked softly.

She straightened up and, escorted by Seth, went into the room behind the nurse's station. Donald said to the hospital administrator, "This is a private matter for now. When we have reached a decision you will be notified." He closed the door and went to sit across the table from where Taylor was sitting. Seth was beside her, holding her hand.

She had her eyes closed for a moment. "I suppose I should ask what gives you the right to change his treatment plan and where he is cured?"

"Until a month ago, I was his POA."

Seth regarded Donald. "What changed?"

Donald let out a sigh. "The state changed his medical package a month ago, and some of the paperwork became scrambled. Taylor was his beneficiary, I was his POA. Now I am his beneficiary, and Taylor his POA. He was in the process of changing it back when he came here, but with him incapacitated, the changes won't take effect, and we can't finalize the changes until he recovers - not just his benefits package, but everyone else's who worked at the court house."

"A month ago … wasn't that when they scheduled Kent Fordham's hearing?" asked Taylor softly.

Donald nodded. "Yes. And, yes there were some manipulations of the accounts."

"So, what do we have to do to get this straightened out?" she asked. She knew Donald from many years before - a lifetime away. She knew that Donald would do everything he could to protect Anthony, and that as a lawyer he would know all of the legalities.

"For now, just come to an agreement on his treatment plan," Donald said gently.

Seth looked at him, then at Taylor. "Forgive the impertinence, but how would it have looked if something happened to Anthony and Donald had to make a life-or-death decision, and it was discovered that he would directly benefit from it?"

Donald let out a sigh. "As his lawyer, I can't be his beneficiary." He saw Taylor grip the table, her knuckles white from the pressure. Reaching over he took both of her hands in his own and held them. "All of this was put into place four years ago. He never changed it because he had hoped some day to be with you."

"I tried to tell him - for years I tried. I couldn't go back. I couldn't live, not knowing if he would be taken out at any given moment. He was declared dead, and he still went back. Donald, you have to know. There is some one else in my life - he's asked me to marry him, and I've said yes. And he has agreed to allow Anthony to be brought into our home to be cared for…" Taylor stopped for a moment and closed her eyes – "… to be cared for the rest of his life, how ever long that may be."

"He is the same one who took over Anthony's care?"

Taylor nodded. Donald looked at Seth who was sitting quietly. Seth reached over to Taylor and touched her arm gently. "Dear, Anthony's care won't be that simple."

For a long moment Taylor looked at Seth, then back to Donald. "Did he sign a DNR?" she asked in the smallest of voices.

"To my knowledge, no. They had to have been planning this for a long time," Donald said softly.

Taylor looked at her hands. "How do you know the person who is going to take care of him isn't involved with all of this?"

"I've known Sondra for four years, and she has nothing to do with Kent Fordham. Anthony knows her too. He will receive excellent care, and be safe."

Her sudden giggle threw him off. "That's pretty much what Anthony said when he sent me here ahead of him." Taylor took in a breath and then looked up at Donald. "Willie will be returning home tonight. I believe it would be prudent to wait until he returns to discuss the matter of his care, and if he can travel, with him. "

Seth furrowed his brows and regarded Donald. "Is that the same Sondra that Jessica and I know?" Donald nodded.

"Very well. I will be staying at the Hill House," Donald said as he gave Seth a nod.

"You bloody well will not be staying there! Donald – that place is a den of iniquity! "

Donald was about to chide her for being an alarmist when Seth cleared his throat. "I agree. Normally the place is safe enough, but in this regard we are not taking any chances. You're coming home with me, and tomorrow we will meet with Willie and Taylor and discuss the options … Now, what's this about you getting married to Willie?" asked Seth.

"He asked me yesterday, before they left, and I said yes ... he is going back home to settle some things, and we'll be married over there. Frank is going to be his best man, Tipper as my maid of honor, and Jessica as a witness."

She saw Seth's eyes narrow. "That's near Scotland, isn't it?"

"A bit near … why?" Taylor asked, bemused. She could see Seth struggling with something internal. Finally Seth closed his eyes and sighed. "Seth? What is it?"

He flushed a moment before saying, "George lives there." He said it with a tinge of sadness in his voice. The look in his eyes was one that Taylor had seen in Anthony's not long ago: acceptance that there was another man in the life of a woman that he loved and there wasn't anything to be done for it.

"George?" asked Donald, curious.

"The chief inspector of Scotland Yard, Inspector George Sutherland He helped to do the paperwork for Willie to reclaim his sword. I dare say he might be there - Willie mentioned something about making things right, which will mean involvement with the law on something greater than a local level." Taylor watched Seth's shoulders go down just a bit. The thought of Jessica being at a wedding, dancing with George – being in his arms again – was a bit much for Seth. Taylor took Seth's hand in hers and held it gently.

"Seth, I haven't had the chance to ask you … if you're free for a bit, would you be able to walk me down the aisle? You would be escorting Jessica back up the aisle after the ceremony."

"Me?" he gasped.

"Well, I had considered Anthony, but that would probably not be something Emily Post would say is proper form."

Seth nodded. "I would be honored," he said, giving her cheek a kiss. "I have rounds to do. If you wouldn't mind waiting, Donald? " Donald gave a nod as Seth strode from the room.

"So, tell me about this young man that you're marrying. What do you know about him, and how long have you been acquainted?"

Jessica watched the icy blue clouds dance upon the horizon. It seemed odd that at one in the morning they were serving breakfast and that the sun was coming up - but flying east did that. Three days had past since the recapture of Kent Fordham and Willie's return. He had been quiet about it, and about how his knuckles had been bashed up. Seth had given him a check-up and a few shots, and then the four of them sat down and had a long discussion regarding Anthony. His healing would take a long time. He had snatches of being awake, and during one of those times, Taylor told him about her planned marriage to Willie. For the longest time he didn't say anything. She thought he had drifted off to sleep, but he took a breath, and managed to give her a smile.

"Good," he said. "He loves you." He nodded, then his eyes closed again and he fell asleep. She bent over and kissed his cheek, and when she left the room and faced Jessica, there were tears in her eyes.

There was a lot to the planning of the trip that Willie just took over. Willie insisted on going to the courthouse and filling out forms for his dual citizenship, and there were other papers that he had Taylor sign, that Jessica had been a witness to - things that, after a while, were just another form. Telling the others had been the next step. Tipper had jumped up and down in excitement at being asked to travel to Ireland for the wedding. Getting coverage for the hospital was a bit of a stretch - nether she nor Seth had any idea that the words "getting married soon" meant "leaving in two days." Tipper had just renewed her passport on a fluke with the new laws going into effect that required one to get in and out of the States from Canada, and Taylor had to dig in several boxes to find hers. Getting the sword on the airplane as part of the carry-on took several calls and quite a bit of nail biting. Willie wasn't going to risk putting it in the checked bag or having it shipped - not now, not when it had taken so long to reclaim it. Mort had been the one to discover that historical artifacts were given priority when it came to shipping, and owing to the age of the sword, it fell under that category. Getting it back through customs would be a trick, as they might not be so easily convinced of the concern he had for it.

Willie had spent a great deal of time in the shop, not telling Taylor what he was doing. He would come up to her and give her a hug, twirl her around, then he would be off again. It gave her time, she supposed, to manage things to get her house taken care of, and to make arrangements for Sydney and Lucky's care. Jessica had been busy too, making calls overseas. Willie refused to open the sword until they got over to Ireland, and in the presence of officials who could validate whatever they found.

Frank had been wiggly the whole trip. He kept squirming in his seat, looking around and watching people. If any one else noticed it, they might think it was the normal high energy of the child that age, but Taylor knew that he was looking around, just to be on the safe side.

Tipper leaned back in her seat next to Jessica. Normally she would shy away from people-filled events. Animals were less judgmental, loving unconditionally. In the years that she had known Taylor, she had never pressed the young vet on why she hadn't married, why she didn't seek the company of men or others, preferring to live a life that was fulfilled with work and her animals. She had begged off getting involved with local plays and gatherings. She didn't really see the faces of the people who brought in their animals; instead she saw their animals as the important part of the family. Jess owned a canary. Birds were all right, but being so small, if they became ill there wasn't much that could be done for them anyway. Tipper was like her cats, independent, coming and going as she needed. Her relationship with Taylor had started by accident, and their friendship grew from there. Tipper knew that on any given day when it had been horrid in surgery, or if she had helped to birth half a dozen bunnies, that Taylor would be there with a cup of tea and fresh buttermilk biscuits, and maybe even that odd corn stuff she called mush. Willie MacGill was a kindred spirit, being alone most of his life. In a way their marriage was totally romantic - but in another way, Tipper viewed the pending event with sadness. Things would change.

She could hear Frank asking Willie a question about Ireland, for the umpteenth time. Willie answered in his same calm patient way that he had since the first question. She had tried to close her eyes, but there was just so much to see and listen to, and of course there was the bright-eyed little girl who peeked over the seat at her and smiled.

"Zoe, eat your biscuit. There's a good lambkin," said a voice with an accent. Tipper realized that everyone on the plane except Jess, Seth, Frank and herself had an accent of one type or another, and then it occurred to her that it wasn't _they_ who had the accents, but that Seth, Jess, Taylor, Frank and herself were the ones who were speaking oddly.

Jessica felt Seth take her hand beneath the blanket as they both tried to get a bit of sleep between the meals that were served. Since the last time Seth had encountered George the feelings between them had simmered. She knew that Seth was very fond of her, and the disclosure of the relationship between the two of them had been unsettling. Seth, though, didn't push, and didn't pout. He had shown George in his own way that he was there for Jessica, as a friend, every day of the year. There were two types of relationships – the one she had with George that had all of the fireworks, and the other, the steady friendship she had with Seth. If there was a way that the two men could be merged together … well, the result might be worth getting married again for. There was a twinge inside of her for a moment, remembering everything that Seth did for her - the storm windows, and the plumbing, and she wondered if in a way she was using their friendship for that. Inside, though, she knew that they were the dearest of friends, no matter what transpired. Seth had taken the news of the relationship between George and her very maturely. There was no way he would ever think of being with Jessica that way.

Willie saw Frank look out the window, then back at Taylor who was snuggled next to Willie, a blanket over the three of them. "That story that you started, well, I only heard the beginning of it when Aunt Jessica was in the hospital. Could you tell me the story now?"

"It was a Dark and Stormy Night," Taylor began.

"_The rain and wind lashed the branches in a frightful display of the elements. The skies were split by earth-shattering blasts of fierce lightning and the booming thunder that rattled the depths of the ancient willow that was once a terrible wizard who had cursed the small seaside cove. His name was …" _

Willie interrupted her. "Lass, don't say it, we're on a plane a long way up, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember last time when you said it. Its ok, I know his name," said Frank with a grin on his face.

"Very well, we will call him Alnan," said Taylor. She continued:

"_You may wonder how a terrible wizard had become a willow tree that would curse the small sea side cove. It happened as this. Alnan had once been a lowly wizard who studied hard, and was an apprentice to a very powerful wizard named Lakaran who had quite forgotten the feelings of the lowly wizard who worked under him. No matter how hard Alnan worked, it was never good enough, or worthy of the powerful wizard's attention. Feeling very dejected, Alnan went down to the cove every day after his master went to bed where he would watch the stars come out over the water. It was there he first caught the eye of a beautiful young girl named Harama who had raven black hair so long they could have woven a fishing net from it. _

"_Together the two of them would spend their nights walking up and down the shore of the cove and falling in love. Alnan wouldn't tell her where he lived, or what he did, for he was afraid that the powerful wizard Lakaran would punish him for falling in love. One day, in secret Harama followed Alnan home, and learned where he lived, and that he was the wizard's apprentice. It was that same day that Lakaran decided that Alnan was not paying attention to what he was teaching, and he redoubled the lessons he was giving the young wizard so that he had no time to meet with the beautiful Harama by the cove shores. Wondering where he was, she crept to the wizard's home, and seeing him by the cauldron she tapped lightly on the window. He opened the door and tried to warn her away because of the danger, but she wouldn't listen. Her voice woke Lakaran, and as Alnan shooed her away Lakaran caught sight of the two young lovers. _

"_The next day Lakaran came to the village leaders and said that he was to have as his own a young girl of the village by the cove, and if they did not make it so, the curse that he would bring down upon the village by the cove would be terrible and mighty. The village leaders didn't question why he wanted a bride so quickly, or who, and it wasn't until later that Alnan learned that the person chosen was his beloved Harama. _

"_Alnan went to the town leaders and begged them not to allow the wedding. It wasn't right - Harama was only a young lass, and Lakaran was older than the hills. But they were too afraid of Lakaran, and wouldn't listen to Alnan. So he cursed them, saying, "No longer will your nets bring the fish home to your wives and family. No longer will the sea be warm and gentle as a mother's arm to those who venture from your shores. Hard will be the wind that blows and deep the snows that cover your land. Summer shall flee from your shores and all you will know is mud for thrice the time as was before." Alnan went in search of Harama, and found her crying by the shore of the cove. She had heard that he had cursed the cove, and it had broken her heart. Alnan, not knowing what else to do, and not being able to explain to her why he had cursed the town, changed her into a little bird to hide her, hoping that if Lakaran couldn't find her, then perhaps they could escape later._

"_Well, the townspeople didn't know what to do, so they went to Lakaran and told him that Alnan had cursed the town because he wanted to marry Harama. Lakaran became angry and demanded that Harama be brought forward so he could have her as his own. The townspeople searched for her, but couldn't find her and Lakaran became even angrier. He called Alnan forward and demanded to know where Harama was. Alnan wouldn't tell Lakaran, and they began to battle as only wizards could. In the end Lakaran turned Alnan into the seed of a willow tree, and was going to place him in an iron box where he would not see light or be able to escape for all the days of the earth. But a little bird flew down and seized the seed from Lakaran's hand. She flew as far away as she could and laid the seed down between two rocks and hid it when Lakaran came after her. He cast a spell, freezing her on the spot. Her body covered the seed, and when the rains came, the seed sprouted and grew into a mighty willow. _

"_One day Lakaran was looking for a particular herb to place into his collection when he came to where the Willow was growing. In its bark he saw the face of his apprentice Alnan. Alnan saw him, and before Lakaran could do anything, Alnan's branches wrapped around him and flung him into the sea where he quickly perished. The spell that had frozen Harama was broken, but Alnan was still a willow, and she did not recognize him. She flew away in search of the man she loved, not realizing he was the willow tree. All that Alnan had cursed had come true - the nets would not work in the cove, and the town was in despair …" _

Taylor stopped her story. Willie, who was following it, looked at her questioningly. She inclined her head in Frank's direction. He had fallen fast asleep. "For another time then," he said, kissing her gently.

It was misty as the plane settled on to the runway at Dublin's airport. They had made the flight in good time, and while the line was long going through customs, Tipper saw a familiar face at the end of it. Frank, who had awakened as the plane was touching down, was the first to march up to the custom's counter in their group.

"Do you have anything to declare?" he was asked by the portly agent.

Frank thought a moment. "I always wondered - do they really make that Irish soap here? - Oh! You mean like if I was bringing something in to the country? No," he said, shaking his head. He missed the agents' bemused grins.

George stepped forward as Willie laid the sword in its carrier on the counter and untied the bindings for it. The agents regarded it, then the documents that he presented, and nodded to George who took the sword from the counter and walked with Willie to a small room. The door closed between them and the others, and for a moment the two men spoke. Tipper waited, watching them as the others made it through customs. When it was her turn she stepped up to the counter and presented her passport to be stamped. For the longest time they held it, looking at it, and her, then flicked it under the barcode scanner. She found herself being frowned at by the customs agent.

"Have you had contact with ill animals with in the last three months?"

Tipper blinked then realized what they were asking. "Physical contact, as in bitten or scratched? No. No infestations, either."

"Will you be coming into contact with any animals during your stay here?"

"Lord love a duck, I certainly hope not … no matter how cute the lad may think he is," she said, not being able to help herself. She was a vet, for crying out loud - of course she had come into contact with sick animals! She understood their caution, but removing quills from the nose of a dog wasn't the same as dealing with bird flu, and they didn't have any cases of foot-and-mouth, not among the lobsters, anyway.

She saw the customs agents' eyebrows raise and wondered just how much of a sense of humor they had. It was possible that they could deny her entry into Ireland for whatever reason. Tipper didn't breathe for a second. Then the agent handed back her passport and reached for the next person's passport in line. By the time all of them were through, Willie and George were coming out of the room, the sword wrapped back up in the case that Willie had made to transport it safely.

Jessica looked at George. He was uncharacteristically formal about everything. No hugs, no greetings, just nods to them, not even looking her in the eye. He walked with them down to the baggage claim area where their things were just beginning to come down the ramp. Jessica considered giving him a good nudge to see if he would react, then thought better as she saw another customs agent had fallen into step behind them. _"What is going on?"_ she thought to herself. She noticed that some of the bags had been pulled aside and by the bright pink straps on them, they were theirs. She saw the agents waving a wand over one, and nodding to another to cut the lock. Willie groaned beside her and strode forward, asking something of the agents who were poised over the lock.

Taylor look at the bag, puzzled. It was one of their bags, but she didn't remember it being unloaded from the trunk of the car when they had arrived at the airport. Willie sighed and went to them, bent over and whispered something in the agent's ear. Jessica saw the agent look at them, then lifting the bag and bade Willie to come into a room away from them where once again the door was closed. In a moment he came out with the bag in his hand and the lock replaced on it along with a paper sticker that was put on the outside of the bag. There was no sign of the sword, but from the increase of weigh in the bag, it was apparent that it had been placed within the bag that had just been inspected.

Frank regarded the car that awaited them. He had overheard that Inspector Sutherland had personally checked out the car to be sure nothing had been tampered with, and that the tank was full. He just didn't see how six people with their luggage could fit in such a thing, but then he saw the trunk. He realized with the way they had packed, yes, a few things would have to be held on their laps, but it was doable. It surprised him more when Willie got behind the wheel of the car and made his first turn onto the street.

It wasn't more than forty-five minuets later that they pulled into a small village that lay nestled among the verdant pastures. There was a worn sign that proudly stated, "MITHER MCGEE'S THE ROOSTING HEN BED AND BREAKFAST" tacked to the fence post that was surrounded by ivy and clover. Willie turned the car into its drive and brought it into the parking lot near the garage.

Willie breathed a sigh of relief as he brought the car to a stop and turned off the engine.

"Just so you're knowing, the registers here carry sound - even a mouse can't cough without everyone knowing in the whole village. I don't know the accommodations that they will be having for us, but at least we will be having beds, so that's a comfort. Flynn and his misses still run the place - it's a bit off the beaten path, but it's where we want to be right now." Willie regarded Tipper and gave her a wink. "Oh, ye might be wary of the local lads, they tend to grow them a mite handsome this part of the world. Wouldn't be surprised if your dance card is filled for the wedding in half a heart beat. Be mindful of them if they ask if they can hang their laundry next to yours."

Wiggling about, Frank saw a few curtains move as people looked out to see who had arrived in their village. "Is this where you grew up?" he asked.

Willie nodded down the street. "Gram's house is a bit down that way, and the market shops are over that way. Mind that it may not be the warmest of welcomes … but I never met an Irishman who didna love to step out for the wedding of a bonny lass," he said with a grin at Taylor. He got out of the car and went around to open the door for Jessica and helped her out, then Taylor, and Tipper. Frank helped Seth out, who regarded the quiet farming village. It was a lot like Cabot Cove, in more ways than he could put into words. While it was inland, it still held the quiet charm, and the close knit community spirit.

Seth suspected that the road that led to this town, before Willie had put it on the map, had been a dirt one that the residents would have liked to have forgotten. He picked up his bag and Jessica's, directed Frank to take a few then followed Willie up the steps of the front porch where Mither McGee was waiting by the door to usher them inside. When the car was unloaded, she handed Willie a key and in a moment he came back after moving the car into the garage. He sighed. He would have rather stayed in another town, perhaps, rather than coming directly into the fray that he knew would soon erupt, but Mither McGee's was the only place that he knew he could trust, and that would have a garage where he could secure the car safely. It also was one of the few places that had three bathrooms, though when the bed and breakfast became full, there was often a wait for the tub.

"Mind the tins," Willie muttered under his breath as he led Taylor up the back staircase to where the bedrooms were. It took Taylor a full minute to understand that the tins were by the chairs, and that they were used as spittoons for the guests that came, or, more notably, for Mither McGee herself, who was in a proper state once they arrived up at their rooms.

Willie was right. They did have their own beds. Frank had always wanted to sleep top bunk, and upon the advice of Willie, Tipper was the other top bunker. They had two rooms, one for the men, the other for the ladies, each room sleeping four with two sets of bunk beds. She saw he had the sword in its case as he escorted her down the steps for proper introductions to Mither.

"Seven calls in two days, Willie, I had - seven! Had to triple-bunk some and I don't know how the floors in the attic will be taking so many traipsing up there! Who would ha know ye would marry into such a large family! Would have lodged ye all together but it didna seem proper to put ye in the same room with your bride before the wedding, though I might have to after if people are staying over, seeing how there will be two empty beds the night of your wedding …" she said with a sly wink to him.

Willie smiled. "Na, there are two coming who will be taking the place in the cots that night, and you did leave one room open, didna ye?"

"Aye. I did. But ye haven't told me how many are staying in it."

Willie shrugged. "Won't know until they come. Thank ye, Mither," he said, kissing her cheek gently.

Surprisingly, she blushed then waved him away. "Go on, off with ye, Gram is waiting for you to come home. Faraday can show you about the town while you're waiting for the rest of your group to arrive."

Tipper turned at the sound of footsteps. She knew from Willie's description that Flynn had to be older. The man who came into the room was younger, fit, and had curly black hair with a dimpled chin. He wore a crisp blue oxford shirt that had the cuffs rolled three-quarters of the way up and dark Dockers. When he smiled, it was with his whole face - the dimples got deeper, and even his sky blue eyes crinkled. His voice was mellow and even as he held out his hand. "Might I show you about?" he asked, speaking in near perfect English.

"I … yes, thank you, that would be lovely," said Tipper with a shy smile on her face, which was touched with a pink blush. She could hear Frank clear his throat behind her as she tucked her hand in the crook of Faraday's arm.

Mither called after Faraday: "Don't forget to hitch the team to the hay wagon later for ye father!" Faraday waved backwards at her, letting her know he had heard her.

Walking over to Taylor, Willie held out his free hand and escorted her down the lane to where a small cottage was nestled behind large spreading oaks. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the chimney signaling someone was within. Willie took a breath, then after knocking once, opened the door and led Taylor inside

It was the same as Willie had described it the night Cal had died. Taylor saw Gram, a diminutive woman wrapped in a soft blue shawl that she knew had to have come from Willie's hand. On the table near the hearth lay her pipe and a tin of tobacco. Something made Taylor go to her and kneel at her feet, and taking her withered hands in her own, kiss the backs of them softly before laying her cheek against them. For the longest time Gram didn't move or acknowledge that she had even felt Taylor taking her hands in hers, or the kiss that Willie put upon her cheek. Finally she looked at him and sighed.

"Is it done?" she said softly.

"It has started. Gram, why couldn't you tell me?" he asked, taking her by the arm gently.

"Better to keep a secret if not known. Only the sword could tell … 'tis the key, ye know," she stated.

Taylor looked at Willie, a bit confused, yet trusting that he would tell her what was going on.

George Sutherland looked down at the address that was scrawled on the scrap of paper, then at the numbers on the bottom of the door. Looking around he saw that where he was standing wasn't the best or the safest of neighborhoods. The yellow house before him was a post war construction, single story with thin walls and perhaps at the most two bedrooms. While the neighborhood may not be the safest, he could see that care had been taken, and pride, in how the house was kept. Taking a breath, he stepped up to the door and knocked. A young girl, perhaps five years old, opened the inside door and looked up at him with a frown on her face. He heard voices inside scolding her for opening up the door. In the dimness of the small hallway he saw a younger woman coming forward, and in a heartbeat George knew what Jessica had to have looked like forty years before - beautiful. What was even more breathtaking was the woman who followed the younger woman down the hall, a mousy grey-haired lady who held all of the poise and grace that Jessica did – albeit a life of sadness in her eyes.

"Yes?" the older woman asked.

George drew a breath and said softly, "Mrs. Rosemary MacGill Razanur, I am Chief Inspector George Sutherland of Scotland Yard, and I have been asked to transport you and your family safely to your son Dr. Thaladirith Razanur's wedding to Miss Taylor Andrews, which is being held in two days' time in the town where your children were born. _Tabhairt isteach do."_

George saw Rosemary raise her hand to her chest. It had to be a shock, to hear about a son whom she had given up years before come forward and acknowledge her, and even more to hear uttered the Razanur's family motto of 'Tabhairt isteach do'. She didn't budge, though. There was still fear in her eyes until he said softly, "You may contact your sister Emma. She will describe me, and tell you that I am known to your cousin Jessica MacGill Fletcher." Reaching in his pocket he withdrew a small photograph and held it up for her to see. "You do understand there isn't much time. Bring what you need."

She nodded, and then turning to her daughter said something to her softly. In short order, Rosemary, her daughter and her four children, and two suitcases were loaded into his car. He closed the car boot then looked around. Nary a curtain dropped. Either the neighbors didn't care, didn't want to be involved in what had the potential to be a blood bath, or that which was feared was already put into motion.

As he drove along the narrow roads he stole a glance at the woman who sat next to him so quietly. He could afford himself a smile. There had been talk about Jessica being a witch in his village of Wick. After meeting Emma and now Rosemary, truth be told, if the three women ever entered into the village together the faint of heart would perish. He had never seen such as strong family resemblance in all of his lifetime. The children sat in the back with their hands folded in their laps. Either they were very well behaved, or they were terrified of any reasons why a chief inspector of Scotland Yard would be coming to pick them up.

There was another truth that needed to be told. He had been uncharacteristically formal to Jessica since her arrival - he had to be. There were several concerns regarding her safety and that of the others - no one was quite sure how deep the roots of the organization Furhdaham had created were. The other issue was the sword. Yes, it was an ancient artifact, steeped in mystery. But had he shown any favoritism to Jessica upon her arrival, and then it be learned that she was traveling with Willie, the customs agents would have seized the sword and prevented Willie from gaining access to its secrets, secrets that George hoped would help end the blood feud between the two families. The last thing they needed was for rumor to get out that all of this was arbitrated because he and Jessica were lovers, and that it had been accomplished because of that favoritism. He sighed. It wasn't fair really to classify what was going on as a blood feud - rather, it was a one-sided slaughter of the innocent. He looked in the rear view mirror at the children again. Yes, it was fear that kept them quiet.

He knew they couldn't go back to where they had lived, and how they had lived. Willie had known that, and at least was in a position to help them, if everything went well. Willie, despite having to endure questions regarding his parentage, had been fortunate. He was brilliant, he had the advantage of education, and he was able to use that education to research breakthroughs for immune treatment using autoantigens found in nature. He was a skilled healer, an apothecary, a biologist, and an entomologist. It was said, during his time on the wards, that he could look into your eyes, and know not only what ailed you, but the cure as well. The hospital took care of his salary. He had little use for money, though, and chose to let the money they had paid him build up in his accounts. He wore the same homespun suits to black tie affairs as he did coming and going on the wards. After the sword had been stolen, Willie began to crumble. Not that the sword had directly to do anything with it; rather, it was the series of bombings and accidents around him that Willie had managed to survive. They never could determine if Willie had been the target, or if it had been politically and religiously motivated. The people George had interviewed regarding Willie found him a gentle soul incapable of hate, or revenge. He had informed George once that he didn't pick fights, and he was hopelessly out of that element because of his size. The success of Willie's book was staggering until the issues with the Nightshade Company came to light, raised by Willie himself.

Once the photo had been found Jessica had made a call to her cousin Emma, who had walked into his office a few days ago seeking his help. The only one of their family that fit the description in the photo was her sister Rosemary, who had withdrawn from the family four decades before to live a quiet life. She had only an address that was many years old. George's research on Rosemary had shown that she had very little money when, several decades before, she had been granted a land allotment for widows of the war. She raised her daughter in the same house, working seven days a week as a mender for the local laundry, and when her daughter had married ten years before, kept the family together under the same roof and took care of the children while the two parents worked in the factories.

Her daughter Sara had been home ill when the accident at the factory happened four months before. The illness was unspecified in the report that was filed, but after the accident the factory closed. Sara kept to herself then, not seeking work. Having a letter from her doctor stating that she was not able to work, Sara went on the dole to support herself and her four children. All that they had were in those two battered cardboard suitcases.

Research into Sara's husband yielded very little. John McAvery was an honest man with few faults. Honesty didn't make you richer, or less prone to temptation. If he drank it was the brew that most made in their own pantry, or in the root stock area of the home. There was no connection to him with the Furhdahams, although the accident that took his life and others in the factory could be claimed as suspicious. Too many people died that were unknowns that might possibly have a link back. George was smart enough to realize that one man could not have possibly arranged everything. He had a gnawing fear that something larger was at hand, something far more deadly. He glanced at Sara again. She still looked ill, without obvious cause. Musing to himself, he wondered if Willie could help her.

Keeping himself focused, George let out a slowly drawn breath. It was a terrible risk that was being taken. The people who they were dealing with didn't care who they hurt, not in the hundreds, or the thousands. The customs agent who had found the extra bag had almost brought things out hours ahead of time.

They were nearing their turn when Sara reached over and took him by the arm, squeezing it. He saw she was ghastly white and pulled the car over to the side of the road out of the way of traffic. The moment the car had come to a stop she was out the door and kneeling in the grass. George dug a small bottle out of the glove compartment, opened the car door, and went over to where she was still kneeling, supporting herself with her hands clenching the grass.

"Rinse your mouth out and then take a swallow. We mustn't linger here. It's not far now."

It was a few moments later that they were back on the road again. When they turned into the village road George looked in his rear view mirror, and to his relief there were no cars behind him. He heard one of the children gasp when they pulled past Mither's place - there were people milling about the front lawn, hugging each other, and children giggling and playing. Streamers were being hung from the trees and tents erected for the festivities. It was a far cry from the place they had left a few hours before. He drove down the lane and parked the car in front of another house.

Rosemary shot him a look. "She's alive, then?"

George nodded, then got out, went about the other side of the car, and opened the door for her. For a moment Rosemary hesitated, but then she allowed George to escort her to the door with Sara behind her as well as the children. He knocked on the door with his knuckle, then stepped back as Taylor swung the door open for them and looked into the eyes of Willie's mother. George stepped back. This was their moment, their time to heal. He could see through the window as he closed his car door Willie embracing his mother and his sister and then the children.

Sitting on the front porch swing with Frank, Jessica regarded the coming and goings of the people. In some way or another all the people were related to the MacGills. It had taken a few quick calls, and things grew from there. Tomorrow the media would arrive for the beginning of the festivities. It wasn't often that most of the MacGills, some of them very famous, were in the same town, and a family reunion, along with a wedding seemed appropriate.

The other children were playing and laughing on the front yard. Frank sat with Jessica - not because the children were younger than he, or that he wasn't sure about the game that they were playing, just that he had noticed the people looking at Jessica and Seth strangely when they spoke. He had realized that he would sound odd to them as well. A breeze caught the flowered cotton skirt Jessica wore and it was with a quick hand that she caught it and tucked it down under her legs. They all had changed into something more comfortable after the flight, and for some reason, the skirt seemed like a good idea.

The front door opened and Tipper came out with a tea tray and biscuits for them. She wore a faint blush on her cheeks as she handed the biscuit tray to Frank to pass about. He eyed her and inquired, "So what did that man want?"

Tipper cleared her throat. Somehow word gotten out that she was a doctor. She knew that Faraday had introduced her to several people, and had told her about most of the neighbors that had grown up with Willie. He was a nice lad who hadn't found the girl he wanted to marry yet. One of his friends had commented that once they leave for the university, that they can't be contented with the locals to find a wife or a husband. Faraday had been very polite, and she found she couldn't take her eyes off of him. Mither had given him a look when they returned, and then sent him off to the barn to hitch up the horses for the afternoon. Hay needed to be brought in from the fields.

Tipper had slipped into the kitchen to put the kettle on for afternoon tea when one of the locals came in through the back door and asked if she was a doctor, and just as she said yes, the kettle began to whistle. She turned to remove the kettle from the stove and heard him say something about his knee. When she turned back, he had dropped his pants to his ankles and sat in the chair with his legs apart as he pointed out the knobby pus-filled growths on his knee. Seth and Frank had come in to the kitchen at that moment. Seth had the presence to turn Frank about and tell him to wait on the front porch. He could hear the man saying something about being bitten by his goat clean through the trousers.

Tipper cleared her throat and averted her eyes. She saw Seth and her eyes pleaded, _"Help me!"_

Clearing her throat again, she said, "Well … amputation, wouldn't you say, Dr. Hazlitt?"

The man jumped to his feet. "Amputation? Oh na, it's na tha' bad!" he gasped, bending over to pull up his trousers. It was then that Seth saw the reason for her distress.

"Well, the table's almost clean and there is a fair selection of knives on the board…" Seth said dryly. It was enough to send the man hobbling out of the kitchen as fast as he could.

"We give discounts for seniors!" Tipper called after him. She couldn't look at Seth - her cheeks were flamed red and she kept her eyes closed trying to rid herself of that particular memory.

Tipper saw that Frank was waiting for an answer. "It … was about his goat." She saw Frank raise his eyebrow. She knew he was pretty smart, and he had to have noticed that something was amiss.

"Guess it was pretty baaad?" he asked with a smirk.

She took a biscuit off of the plate and popped it in her mouth. From the look on her face he knew he shouldn't push any more.

"What was?" asked Willie as he climbed up the porch steps with Taylor holding the crook of his elbow. He saw Seth and Taylor exchange glances, then looking at Frank he said gently, "There is a gentleman who will be pulling in soon from down the street. He has some bags that need to be carried up to the room next to ours on the second floor. Be a good lad and help him." Frank nodded and took the steps down. He could see the car pulling up the lane, and went to wait for it.

"What was?" Willie asked again when he had gone.

He saw the flush on Tippers cheeks. "One of the gents came to the kitchen with a goat bite to the knee, and was seeking professional advice ... from me. I, um, dissuaded him by suggesting amputation. He, um, left in rather a hurry, when Seth suggested the knives and the table in Mither's kitchen. We'll need to get word to the regular doctor here …"

"What did he look like?" asked Willie with a sigh.

"Stumpy older gent, had a blue flannel shirt on and gray pants. Scruffy, big ears and brown suspenders. Why?" she asked, curious.

"Ah, that's Toot," said Mither as she came out of the house with another plate of biscuits.

"No regular healer here since Gran retired four years ago. Na many will go to the city for things like bites an' such." She stopped and gave Tipper an odd look. Willie saw it, and knew what she was thinking.

"Mither, she's na trained for people, just animals. The cures are different," Willie said with a resigned sigh. Seth saw the sigh and stood up. "I've got my bag in the room," he said simply.

Willie turned to Taylor and kissed her softly. "One of three things will happen. Either we will be right back, or back in a half an hour…"

She covered his lips with hers to prevent what he was going to say. "Or I will come looking for you," she said softly.

Toot looked up from where he sat on his back porch holding his knee. There were several jugs beside him, one of which was uncorked and near his hand. He tried to scramble away when he saw Seth, then hardened his jaw when he saw Willie.

"Wha' business do ye have here?" Toot said, his voice tinged with anger.

Willie stopped. "I've come to make things right."

"'Ave ye? Without running away? Or 'ave your friends do the dirty work tae lame a man for life?" he sneered.

"Well, a least I don't go wavin' my private proper about in front of an unmarried lass who was getting tea biscuits for the children!" Willie said, waving his hand toward Mither's house.

"Did na such thing. She's a doctor!"

"She's a vet. The closest she gets tae that is removing them on animals, which you're very lucky she didna do to you for how you came upon her like tha'," he said, approaching Toot and pushing him back onto the steps of the porch as he pulled out a knife from his pocket. Toot gasped then cried out as he slit the inseam of the pants and folded it around his leg.

Seth grimaced. It was a nasty bite, left to fester over a few days. Willie took the jug from where it rested, sniffed it, then dumped some of it over Toot's leg. Seth almost staggered back. He knew exactly what was in the jug.

"You will go blind if you don't cut that more," he said, putting his doctor's bag down on the step and opening it. He dug through it and found several lancers, then handed one part way opened to Willie. Deft fingers worked it into the largest pus sack. Toot yipped with pain, then gagged at the smell. Willie was very careful to keep the area clean, and to remove the infected tissue. Every once in a while Toot would let out a yip as Willie poked another pus sac. Seth kept a careful eye on what Willie was doing, not that he was doing anything wrong, but knowing that if something _did_ go wrong, he could give account that it was done properly.

It was twenty minutes later that Willie finished with the leg and wrapped it properly. The dangling pant leg was wrapped about on top to protect the bandage and then secured. There were no offered thanks, just a grumble about using most of his best stuff on the wound.

They walked back to the house, looking ahead in the lane at the children playing under the tree. Willie looked at Seth. "How did you get your bag through customs?" he asked, curious.

"Oh, just had it with my things, and declared it. Jessica is one of my patents, and I have to be prepared if something should happen to her," he said with a shrug.

Willie saw the seriousness in Seth's eyes. "You think something is going to happen, do you?"

Seth drew in a breath and stopped walking. "Tell me why you left. Forget the sword, and the book, because you could have handled things from here, seeing that you knew where the sword was all the time, and the sheath. Why did you leave a village full of people who need a good doctor to come to America? You had been practicing here before. What changed? What is going on here Willie? If any other person came home to Cabot Cove after being gone for years and they were getting married, the whole town would be out trying to get a glimpse of the new bride and asking questions. The only one who has ventured to ask anything was Toot."

Seth saw the struggle on Willie's face. "I became a target, and those around me, those whom I loved and wished to help, were getting in the way. I left to keep them alive. Good people died, and it was my fault that they were in harm's way. Those who came to me for healing were marked, and found their barns torn down, their animals dead. The curious came after the book was written, and the people felt on display. Some adapted to it, like Mither. Look around, Dr. Hazlitt - you see simple farming folk, some would say a quaint life. It hasn't changed here for several hundred years, yet we have power lines under the ground, with the telephone lines so that they can't be disabled. The water comes pumped in from the river two towns over and not a common well. Some of the homes have the internet, but few have use for it. Aye, I could have left closing up the shops to others. I had to know it was done properly, though, and end it properly. It was my way of severing the connection Furhdaham had built up across your country. I didn't know, when I chose Cabot Cove to be the end place for it, that I would find my life, which had been so empty for all those years, to be made whole again, and given a reason to live."

"The end place for it? You expected to die?" said Seth, shocked.

"Yes, I expected to die there. Kent would try to escape and I was being watched by his followers, and if any one of them had the word given it would have been over. I knew, though, that Kent would want to do it himself. He understood I had the sword and the sheath and that I was destroying what he built. It was my way of waging war against his family. Then Taylor came into my shop. She gave me life, Seth, and my heart told me I had found the lady I wanted to hang my wash with. Not a handfast, but a proper marriage."

Jessica waited on the porch while George helped Sara out of the car, and then Rosemary. She could see the two women were trying to fathom the events that had so recently unfolded before them. The children tumbled out of the back seat and looked around, uncertain of what exactly was going on. Some of the children in the front yard stopped playing long enough to wave to them, but Sara's stayed close to her. Frank walked up to them and as George opened the trunk and placed one of the suitcases down on the ground, he picked it up. He could only manage one. George regarded him and then saw Jessica looking on. She nodded to him, but kept the excitement of seeing him close in her heart so her face could betray no emotion.

George escorted the women up the walkway to the front porch, where Jessica stepped forward and smiled. "Hello, Rosemary," she said, then gave her cousin a hug, her eyes bright with tears.

When the two women parted Rosemary stepped back and held out her hand to her daughter. "This is my daughter Sara, and my grandchildren: the twins, Ian and Patricia, Shauna, and wee Emily. Children, this is your cousin Jessica from across the pond."

The children looked at Jessica, and then at their grandmother. "We have kin then?" said Ian in a low voice.

Jessica placed her hand on his shoulder and bent over saying softly in his ear. "Nearly everyone here is your kin." She placed a kiss on his cheek then straightened up. She turned and saw Frank returning from taking the bags up to their room for them. "Thank you, Frank."

Frank regarded Ian as he stood by his mother's side. He didn't look like the other children. His hair curled in the same way that Willie Mac's did, and he had the same eyes. Frank understood at once, after seeing the others that Ian and Willie Mac had to have taken after their grandfather. Patricia and Shauna looked like their mother, and would look like Jessica when they grew up. Emily, while young, looked like her father, Frank hazarded to guess. He saw the fear in their eyes as people walked by, how they stayed close to their mother, and the wary glances that they gave.

A taxi pulled up just as Willie and Seth returned from helping Toot. Seth got the door of the taxi and helped Emma out. For a moment his breath was taken away by her resemblance to Jessica. She had a small bag with her as well as a plain brown wrapped package that she pressed into Willie's hands after giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"You can open that later," she said with a smile. She saw her sister and Jessica and waved to them before taking Seth's offered arm to walk slowly with him across the lawn to the front porch.

Frank eyed Willie's actions carefully. He found it odd that after being parted from his mother and his sister all of his life, Willie should take their presence so casually. He knew that they had to have had some private time at Gram's home, but, even still - it was the caution that was being taken that was so telling. To the people who were looking out of their doors, or had found some excuse to sweep their walks or weed the grass in front of their houses, it just looked like a mingling of an extended family at Mither's. Taylor was the one who was hugging and greeting people as long lost relatives would, as did Jessica, who took the time to introduce her to everyone. Ian and the others were still with their mother and grandmother when Frank walked over to them.

"I'm Frank Fletcher - Aunt Jessica is tending to me this summer. You can stay in my room if you would like, Ian; that way Cousin Emma can be with your mum and sisters. It would just be us guys then." Frank saw Ian look at his mother, uncertain. With a pang, Frank realized that he had never been away from his family and the thought was probably pretty terrifying. "If you don't mind the snoring between Dr. Hazlitt and Willie," he added.

"You do a fair bit of snoring yourself, lad," said Willie, regarding his sister's expression at the offer. It was a struggle for her to accept. She had never been parted from her child, and the worries that had lasted a lifetime - to keep hidden, to keep safe - were things she had instilled in her children. This marriage, this gathering - in a way it was a challenge to Furhdaham's family, something that would bring it all into the open and end it, though the end could only come one way or another. She saw the look on her son's face. He was of age, he would willingly stay with his mother, his sisters, and grandmother in the same room to protect them, sleeping on the floor - this offer said to them, 'it's safe.' She nodded and saw the shy smile on Ian's face, accepting that he was no longer a child.

Willie led them into the house, and as the door closed behind them George heard Tipper ask, "Inspector Sutherland, will you be staying on for supper?"

"Sadly, I have other duties to attend to." He took a breath and dropped his voice. "However, Mrs. Fletcher, I might ask if I may borrow some of your time to assist in a matter which I have neglected ..." He floundered with his words as his hands made the shape of a box, and shrugged.

Frank looked at George. He didn't seem like the type to put off something like buying a wedding present until the last moment. He saw the faint flush on Jessica's cheeks, and took a breath. "I will be fine Aunt Jessica," he said. "Tipper's here if I need anything."

"I think I might be able to help you with that, then," Jessica said, smiling. George escorted her to the car and helped her into the back seat, then went around to the front and after starting the car pulled it out of the slot gently. They were turning onto the main road when Jessica leaned forward. "What is going on, George?" she asked. "Do you really need a wedding gift for them?"

Smiling, George looked in the rear view mirror at her. "Picked up a set of Waterford flutes yesterday. I do owe you an explanation, dear lady. Things are going to unfold that will turn this community upside down. If it was seen that a chief inspector had a relationship with a relation of one of the parties, it could jeopardize the entire investigation. Furhdaham has been under scrutiny for decades, but we could never catch him at anything. We started this when one of the people from the village came forward making inquiries regarding her daughter. Furhdaham had given her a scholarship to go to the university, and when the mother made inquiries about her daughter at that school they didn't have her listed. They didn't have any record of her at all, and we discovered the letter from the university was forged."

George pulled down another lane and into a wooded spot where he turned and regarded her. "I have missed you, Jessica. It was horrid being so close to you and not being able to welcome you," he said softly before getting out of the car and getting into the back seat with her.

"What type of welcome did you have in mind?" she asked, curious.

He saw the mischief in her eyes as he bent forward. "A proper one that would have shocked the customs officials and had me banned from the airport forever, perhaps even tossed out of Scotland Yard …"

It was an hour and a half later that George pulled the car back into the slot and helped Jessica out of the back seat. The others could see something on the seat as she slid out and he closed the door. He escorted her back up to the porch and then bowed his head formally at everyone.

"It was a pleasure meeting you all," he said, then bid them good-bye and returned to his car. Jessica watched with some sadness as his car backed out and he drove down the lane.

She felt Mither at her elbow, and heard her ask, "Inspector Sutherland? Ye have met him before?"

"Yes," Jessica said as if he was someone she had known as a casual acquaintance.

Willie glanced at Jessica and then inclined his head to her as she followed him inside. He looked at her, his eyebrow raised, then he stepped forward in the alcove and unbuttoned three of her buttons and set them right again. She saw a twinkle in his eye. She returned his gaze without a blush and was surprised when he took her hand in his and led her to where the back porch was. No one was back there, no one was around.

He took her to where the flower trellises were and said softly, "If I gave ye a lecture on what's proper you'd be right to smack me silly so I won't. I've known the Inspector a long time, and he is trustworthy, but nae everyone here is. Ye might be able to do tha once an' not be followed, but twice could lead to far worse than misplaced buttons. I canna even say tha' we are safe here, but it's safer than other places we could be."

Frank sat between Jessica and Tipper on the swing and watched as Tipper studied a chain of flowers that Faraday had given her. They had taken a long walk about the village and Frank had seen Faraday pushing Tipper on the park swing down the street and her giggling like a school girl. The flowers were a lovely shade of pink that matched the flush of her cheeks. He couldn't explain exactly how he felt at that moment. Perhaps the word he was looking for was - longing.

It was exciting to be in a different country. Everything here was different than what he expected - it took a bit to follow what people were saying, and to take in everything. All the pictures he had seen of Ireland before were of what his mother would call quaint thatched-roof cottages. But this was different. The roofs were of slate, and while the homes were of stone, it didn't look much different from some of the places that he had seen when his parents took him for a drive in the country. People wore jeans and tennis shoes, and t-shirts under sweaters. The only notable oddity was that when he was looking for a barn in a field, as he was used to the huge red or white or black pitch barns that dotted the Pennsylvania Dutch area, that he was pointed to small lumps in the field that had doors. He realized they had made their barns into the ground itself.

He stole a glace at Tipper, who opened her small purse and sorted around for some mints. Frank glanced down and saw her driver's license photograph upside down. Her hair was shorter then, and her eyes looked larger. She found the small tin of mints and offered him one. He nodded his thanks and returned the smile to her. He knew something about Tipper that Faraday didn't, and oddly, that pleased him.

"Is this the lot of you then?" he heard Flynn ask curiously as he poured Taylor a spot more tea in her cup to heat it up. Seth had come out of the house after putting his bag away.

"Oh, no. This is just a small part of the family," he said, nodding to Jessica. "Mrs. Fletcher's husband had seven other siblings, and from what I remember, you have a fair amount of nieces and nephews from those siblings, don't you?" Jessica nodded, watching Flynn take in this information.

"Must be lovely having a large family," Flynn said to Tipper as Taylor and Willie walked over to join Jessica.

Taylor was saved from answering by the arrival of a crowd of people led by Toot up to the front lawn of the bed and breakfast. The crowd parted to reveal several who were dressed up in straw. Their masks were woven in straw, as were their skirts and shirts. Willie took Taylor by the hand and led her down the steps and walk way to where the Straw Men were. They formed a circle about Willie and Taylor, and using a small hand drum and lute, began to dance wordlessly around them while playing their instruments. The others came down off of the porch to watch. Ian moved in closer to Frank and Tipper, who stood near the side of the bed and breakfast watching what was going on. Tipper wasn't comfortable with the crush of people, and Frank sensed it. The villagers began to come out of their homes to watch the straw men dance, and as the crowd grew, Tipper and the two boys found themselves backing up a bit to the corner of the house to stay out of the way of the people who were clapping and cheering at the dancing men.

The flower chain slipped from Tipper's fingers and fell to the ground as the drums began to play a cadence. It bounced on the grass twice before it came to rest near the side of the bed and breakfast. Careful weathered hands picked up the woven chain of flowers and wove a thin gold chain amongst the blossoms, then hooked it onto a branch of a nearby tree.

The town watched as the bride and groom to be were lead to the center of the circle, where they stood as the Straw Men danced. Jessica knew that it was a tradition - she had heard about them, but something puzzled her as to the why they came. She kept her place at the top of the porch and leaned against the rail as she watched things unfold. She saw Toot standing off to the side leaning against a walking stick, his pants leg wrapped about his knee. She turned and saw Mither walk across the front of the yard to the steps and then sit down on them. There was such a milling and mixing of people that she couldn't get a clear view of who was in the crowd. She saw a horse drawn wagon with a load of hay being led onto the lane behind the house, then the driver who wore a cap over his head nodded, got into the seat and set the horses off down the lane to the outside road. Jessica's attention was brought back to the circle. She saw Taylor grasp Willie's arm and turn to him, whispering something in his ear before her knees buckled. He caught her in his arms and eased her to the ground.

Jessica lost sight of them amongst the milling people. Stepping into the house and down the hall to the kitchen Jessica pushed aside the empty warm tea pot and ran water until it was cool over a cloth. She watched the tea leaves swirl in the water as it went down the drain, then turning off the water she wrung the rag and hurried outside to where the people were watching what Willie was doing. Jessica pushed through the crowd and the straw men and found Seth kneeling beside Willie. Taylor was across Willie's knees heaving into the grass, drenched in sweat and shivering. Jessica offered the cloth to Willie, who nodded thanks to her and wiped Taylor's brow with it. When the heaves stopped she lay limp in Willie's arms. He rolled her over carefully and looked into her eyes as she winced against the bright sunlight filtering in amongst the branches.

Taylor felt Willie place his hand on her chest and regarded him. "Being a bit free an' easy with wh …" she began softly. Jessica watched as Willie gently kissed Taylor, interrupting what she was saying. He used the cloth then to wipe the inside of her mouth and with Seth's help got her to her feet and into the house. The crowd milled around for a while and then dispersed back to their homes.

Jessica watched as Seth and Willie helped Taylor into her bed and tended to her. She couldn't help feeling as if something was very wrong. Seth straightened up and regarded her. "Jess? What is it?"

"I don't know … something isn't quite right."

Willie crossed the room and placed his fingers over Jessica's lips, and then led her to where Taylor was. He reached over and pulled Seth's pen flashlight out of his pocket and flicked it over Taylor's eyes. Jessica drew in a sharp breath and shot an anxious glance at Willie, then Seth.

"How?" she whispered. Willie shrugged. Jessica sat on the edge of the bed and looked over at the bags sitting at the foot of the bunk bed. "Where's Tipper and Frank?" she asked softly.

The two men exchanged glances. "With Ian," said Seth.

Tipper woke in the most undignified position. She now knew, not by choice, what a trussed up lobster felt like. Not that it was something that she ever wanted to know, but in the future she knew she would have a bit more sympathy for them. Her head hurt, her eyes hurt, and she knew that the ropes that bound her wrists and feet would leave nasty bruises. She heard a soft moan beside her and managed to turn her head to see that it was Ian beside her waking up. She lifted her head. There was an unmoving lump beyond Ian. It smelt horrid where she lay. With effort, Tipper managed to twist around and came face to face with something that she'd rather not ever see in her life. She couldn't help but to scream. She heard laughter above her and managed to make out that the light shining above them was about forty feet up.

"Survived the fall, did you? No matter," the voice said. Tipper gasped. She knew that voice - one she had heard four years ago. Somehow Tipper didn't want to give him the satisfaction of her asking "What do you want," or "Why are you doing this?"

She heard an unexpected laugh coming from behind her followed by Frank yelling, "Yeah, well, your son is a coward just like you are!"

There was a chuckle from above. "Perhaps you don't realize the danger that you're in, young man. No doubt your companion may recognize where you are, in a composition chamber. While this cap is open, there is air. Should I choose to close it, the methane gas will build up, and in short order, you will suffocate. Or, I could chose to drop a flare down into the mix, and, well, you can figure it out from there … It's often done to clean the area when it gets a bit full. By now your family will have realized that you're missing, and, of course, they will be given false hope that somehow you might be rescued, or bartered for with the release of my son …"

"You mean the one who murders innocent five year olds? Did you know he dresses in women's cloths?" yelled Frank back to the man. "You really ought to have a discussion with him about it. Green is not his color. He makes a pretty ugly woman at that. And FYI? Willie _so_ beat the crap out of him."

Tipper caught her breath. For a moment she thought Furhdaham Sr. was going to close them in there, but after a long pause he said finally, "You can yell if you want, but there is no one here to hear you except me, and I would especially love to hear you beg for your lives as you slowly die. It's a toss-up, you see, if you will suffocate, starve to death, or be eaten by the rats. I hope you enjoy your stay in Ireland - you will be here for a very, long time." The stones echoed the retreating footsteps as Furhdaham Sr. walked out of the room and locked the door.

Tipper heard another groan from Ian. "You ok?" she asked out loud.

"I, my leg is broken." he managed to gasp. "Though it won't matter, I guess…"

"Well, you won't do a lot of dancing at the wedding, but who wants their foot trod on every third step?" she quipped.

She heard Frank take a long breath then say, "It really stinks down here." For some reason it seemed very funny at that moment, and it sent the three of them giggling before Frank asked "What made you scream, Tipper? Did you see a rat?"

She shook her head. "Do you remember the story Willie told about the sword? And how his great grandfather fled and why? Well. I think we are in the same place as the missing maid."

"Oh… the fall killed her, then?" asked Frank.

"No … a knife to the ribs did. Unless it is someone else who just happened to disappear."

"A knife? Well, that's good because then we can use it to cut ourselves free, and get out of here," said Frank confidently.

Jessica waved away the offered mug of tea from Mither then said softly, "No thank you" as George strode into the bedroom. She was sitting on the love seat in the bedroom beside Rosemary, who was trying to remain calm. Willie had explained to her softly that while there was danger, if they wanted them dead, they would have killed them on the spot. He had kissed Rosemary on the cheek and told her not to worry before standing up and going out of the room. Emma sat next to Taylor who lay quietly on her bed. Sara was laying down, her daughters beside her on the other bunk bed and sitting on the floor keeping watch on her. There was a knock on the door, then George entered and held out a bag containing the flower chain, with the gold chain wrapped around it. The twisted triangle and hourglass charm hung from the chain.

"Right then, I'll call the others," said Emma, standing up. "We'll storm the estate and have his scrawny hide on the wall …"

Mither stood in the doorframe coming in behind. "Such noble plans for one who is not yet kin to ye."

Emma regarded Mither. "Ian is my sister's grandson, and nephew to Willie. Frank is great nephew to my cousin. It doesn't take blood to make family, and Tipper is as dear to Taylor and Jessica their own sister and daughter."

The news stunned Mither. "Your kin?" she said softly, glancing at Rosemary. "They claim him?"

"And why not? Properly married I was, only to have my beloved taken from me six months later and them birthed five after that," replied Rosemary.

Turning, George heard Willie's voice behind him. "If you're ready, Inspector?"

Taylor gasped. Willie had removed his coat and had girded the sword to his waist and tied off on the leg. His face bore a terrifying expression and she knew that for this, the anger in his heart was great enough to use the sword to finish it once and for all. She sat up and regarded him. "Thaladirith Razanur, you will return to me and we will be wed, or I will call upon he who dwells within the cove willow to bring you back, splitting sea and sky - is that understood?"

"Aye," he said.

There was a noise behind them. Faraday stepped up to them and said honestly as he brushed hay from the seat of his pants, "I am coming with you. I cannot just stay here and not, not while she is in danger."

"Faraday, you don't know what your doing!" gasped Mither.

There was a quiet look of resignation in Faraday's eyes. "Aye, I do Mother. " Then with George and Willie he strode down the hall outside where George's car awaited.

The skull and bones that had the knife plunged within didn't seem to bother Frank as he crawled over to where it lay. Tipper had no idea how he managed to squirm his arms under his body then crawl with both hands tied as well as his ankles. She heard the snick of the blade being removed from the ribs, and then he nudged her over.

"Yell if I cut you," he said, working the knife between the twines of the rope. The acids from the compost pile had dulled the blade, but not the spirit of the young boy as he sawed at the ropes.

"Frank, there isn't any real way out of here, except the way that we came," said Ian softly.

"Of course there is. We just have to find it, and then from there, find our way out," he said as he worked the blade a bit closer to her skin. "The worst part of it is, we are a long way away from a proper bath, and I think we may have to bury our cloths from pity, though the shame of it is that I'm quite fond of these jeans … There we go," he said as Tipper's hands were suddenly free.

Tipper turned, and after untying Frank's hands, she undid the ropes on her feet, then both of them untied Ian.

"We will have to splint that leg somehow," she said to him as she carefully moved his leg into position. He groaned in pain as she straightened it. "Sorry," she said softly.

"Would these do?" Frank asked holding up two long objects.

Tipper looked. In his hands were the two leg bones from the skeleton. "Frank, when we get out of here, you and I have to have a long talk regarding your nerves, and mine."

"But there is no way out!" said Ian as Tipper used the bones and the rope to splint his leg.

"Course there is," repeated Frank. "Has to be, because the one in the park has a door so they can shovel out the compost."

"The what?"

"The one at the park. Mum and Dad took me to this state park that was pretty much like a bunch of rocks pushed around by the glaciers and they had a rest room that was made like this, and it had been there a real long time, as long as the park had been there, and they had a door that they were able to access the area to shovel out the compost. The park ranger said it was a good thing because people were always losing their wallets and money clips and stuff when they weren't careful. Now, I know that this area probably serves one side of the estate, or both, and it would stand to reason that they would have a door, just cause, well, how many times have you lost something down the drain? He" (he pointed upward) "may not know about it, but it's got to be here somewhere, and it is a safe bet that it is at either the highest point, or the lowest, or maybe both. The lowest point would be used to drain off moisture, and the highest point may be the access back up to the estate. Maybe even to the kitchen - I'm starved!"

"How can you think about food at a time like this?" asked Ian with a note of incredulousness in his voice.

In the dim light that filtered down they saw Frank shrug. "Keeps me from thinking too much about the girl I want to marry," he said with a sigh.

"Is she pretty?" Tipper asked.

For a moment Frank didn't say anything, then, softly, he said, "Yeah, she is, and Angela is smart too, and kind, and funny sometimes. She's shy and doesn't want to get involved, though. Not with anyone … Willie says those types can be heart breakers."

Tipper was at a loss for words. Not sure of exactly what to say, she looked down at the skull that gleamed in the light and noticed something. "Oh …dear," she said, carefully picking up the skull.

"What is it?" asked Ian, curious.

"They didn't have fillings a hundred years ago. If the maid is here, her bones would be buried. This is a more recent death - the bones were gnawed clean," she said in a hushed voice.

"Okay, so if we have a knife, we can tap the walls to see if there is an air space behind them," said Frank. "I saw that on tv, where they were looking into getting into a pyramid, they tapped the walls …" Taking the knife he walked to the edge of the pile. Carefully he tapped as he went. They heard a crunch as he stopped after a few minutes. "Guess that person wasn't the only one who came down here," he said softly.

Frank leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Moving around he was finding that the air was very bad, and that he was getting tired. The ground wasn't the most firm, and in some areas it was a gooey mess that sucked at his shoes. Tipper stayed with Ian. She knew it was likely that he had other injuries and was in shock. She heard the _Tink Tink Tink_ of the handle of the knife against the stone. She knew that the light of the day would be fading soon, and chances were, no night light would be left on for them.

_Tink Tink Tink Tunk_ went the knife handle. _Tunk Tunk._ There was silence from Frank for a moment. "Damnú air."

"Frank?" called out Ian, concerned.

"I found it … but, well, there may be a down side to this …"

Tipper took a breath. "Yes, a lot of air is going to come into the chamber and the methane gas will ignite into a fireball. The good news is, we will have a few seconds to get through the door because the air is coming in, not going out … so it will be like a huge burp."

Frank heard Ian say softly, "O ta brokn win tha blows down te ban."

"Broken wind? What's that?" asked Frank, curious.

Tipper closed her eyes. She could say the word for it, the improper rude word for it, but somehow, in the middle of everything they were standing in, it would just make matters worse. "Uh, I think there is a book on it, called, "The gas we pass?"

There was a pause from Frank, then, "Oh, why didn't he just say f-"

"Frank!" Tipper began, then felt Ian lean against her. "Okay, look. Chances are there are stairs. Remember in fire safety class they said not to take stairs? It's because you can't hold your breath long enough to go up or down them. The thing is, the fire is going to rise up and travel along the roof of the stairwell, so we need to go up it as close to the steps as possible, and that's going to be difficult. We can't outrun the fire, and we don't know what's at the other side of the door." Tipper tucked the skull under her shirt and then tied her top together to hold it. If they got out of here, the person who had died needed to have family notified. She tucked the knife into her back pocket and together she and Frank pushed on the section of wall that had a hollow space behind it.

"You can't just go barging in on Furhdaham," Faraday said from the back seat. "Scotland Yard has no jurisdiction here."

"He doesn't need it," Willie said. "Furhdaham's being evicted. He never held the property, he only stole it, as well as other things that belong to the family."

The wrought iron gate that was formed in the shape of ivy and clover, and the massive wooden door that had the same pattern carved into the wood with twin birds on either side of the panels were open to the estate when they pulled up into the long drive. The estate stood in mute testament to the horrors that had happened within its walls. Willie kicked at a piece of straw that lay on the front porch before crossing the threshold, his sword drawn. Faraday looked about nervously. Something wasn't right. There was an odd smell coming from somewhere in the house and the silence was unnerving. At the main entry way they separated - Faraday went to the left down to the kitchen area, and George and Willie went to the right where it opened to the den and the sitting room.

He was there. Nodding off in his great chair by the cold fireplace, a china setting for tea at his elbow. The tea was still steaming gently in the pot as they approached him quietly. Willie stopped and held George back. Something wasn't quite right. He sheathed his sword, and George placed his gun back into the holster.

Faraday heard something as he walked down the hallway. He rolled back the sleeves of his gray oxford shirt and listened again. A low moan. He started for the door to the kitchen area only to have it thrown open as three filthy figures came shambling out of the area as fast as they could move. "It's gonna blow!" he heard a raspy voice say. Not knowing what else to do, he swept the one figure that seemed to be dragging the most over his shoulder, then he swept the two others under his arms and headed back to where George and Willie stood looking at what was in the living room.

"OUT- GET OUT!" Faraday commanded as he hurried past the sitting room door. Willie felt something - a vibration. Looking at George the two men grasped the still figure that sat quietly in the chair and hauled him outside with the others. They had just cleared the outside door when the fire that had been building from the methane in the compost area took the opportunity to expand to every open area it could, belching fire upward and lifting the estate up from its foundations.

Willie and George laid the still figure on the grass. Willie knelt beside him and lifted a wrist for a pulse.

"Is he dead?" Faraday asked softly.

Willie opened Furhdaham's shirt and listened to his heart. "He's still alive," he said, rolling the old man over to his side. In the distance there was the wail of sirens approaching the estate.

Willie tilted Furhdaham's head back and pressed their mouths together, pushing air into the old man's lungs.

"Why is he trying to save him?" Faraday asked Tipper.

She looked at Faraday. "Because that is what his heart tells him to do."

Faraday looked at Tipper. Raising his hand he brushed away the muck from her face and gazed into her eyes. "Then it's proper to follow your heart?" She nodded slowly. He was bending over her when he was bumped from the side by Frank.

"Sorry," he mumbled. When Faraday looked back, Tipper hand turned away to regard the approaching police cars. She realized they made an unexpected sight. At first it looked like they had their guns drawn before the cars stopped then cautiously they exited the cars and came forward. George took a breath, holding up his gold badge.

"We need two ambulances," he called to them.

"And a coroner's wagon," said Tipper, pulling the skull out from under her shirt. She handed both the skull and the knife to the inspector. "There were more down there as well, but seeing how this fella helped get us out of there, the least we could do was bring him with us," she said.

George beamed at Tipper. "Well done," he said softly, looking back at the house. Methane burned different. Once it was consumed, the fire extinguished itself unless it happened to have a ready source. Trapped inside a methane explosion, the oxygen would be depleted causing death. He regarded the sodden trio. He was very glad that he would be able to give good news to Jessica this evening.

Tipper sat on the exam table watching the nurse inject her arm with the tetanus and hepatitis vaccines. She and the boys had been given the chance to use the showers then dressed in soft flannel exam gowns and placed in different cubicles. Ian was having his leg set. George had called in a few favors, and by the time the ambulances arrived, some of his friends had come to help excavate the chamber where they had been held. The local police had informed him they had received a call regarding a breaking and entering, and that the person was concerned for his safety. Something hadn't gone right, though, and he now lay in a coma. Without Willie's intervention, he would have died. She looked up as the door opened. Willie came in with a t shirt and pants for her, and laid them on the bed. She saw he had borrowed a stethoscope from someone and she saw the weariness on his face as he approached the exam table.

"Faraday's wearing a hole in the carpeting outside worrying about you," he said as he picked up her hand and extended her arm outward. She saw him frown as he examined the tiny red spots on her arms. Reaching up he pushed back her hair and looked at her neck, then stepping behind her undid the strings to the gown and opened it. He ran a finger down her ribs and said over her shoulder, "You're a bit thinner than I'd like to see to stay healthy. It's a wonder that you didn't break any bones in the fall."

"I'm fine as I am … I don't think Ian's leg was broken in the fall. Yes, we dropped a distance, and we all went down the same way, feet first, but, well, that would telescope the bone, and his leg, well, it was like it was stepped on, and broken on purpose. Furhdaham is an old man. Pretty frail at that. He couldn't …" Tipper stopped. She realized Willie already knew what she was going to say.

"The whole village would have willingly helped him do it, Tipper, out of fear and misplaced loyalty." She felt the chill of the stethoscope against her ribs. "Now breathe in," he said gently.

George's car pulled into Mither's just as the sun was setting. Faraday and Willie got out of the front seat; Faraday had taken off his green oxford and had it folded over his arm. It would have to be washed, or buried. He looked at it. "Wasn't one of my favorites," he said, shrugging. Tipper stayed in the back with the two boys. Both had fallen asleep and were leaning against her. Willie opened the back door and carefully picked Ian up in his arms and carried him inside. She nudged Frank, who woke up and looked around sleepily, then looked at her.

"What I said before, in that place …" he began.

"You're not taking it back, are you?"

He drew in a breath and picked up her hand in his. "No … but being practical, there are a lot of years' difference between us, and while I am willing to wait, I know it's not fair for me to expect you to wait until I am old enough to marry you."

"Oh Frank," she said simply. "To be honest with you, there isn't anyone else in my life that I would even think about getting married to. Being very good friends is the best that we can do right now, and if you happen to meet someone you find gets along with you when you're older, then I will understand."

"What about Faraday?" he asked, curious. He saw the flush on her cheeks.

"I can't talk properly around him, or think straight or breathe or even know how to begin to do anything with him. I don't think that - that is what love is about … do you?" she asked.

"Sounds more like how I feel during gym class after they make us run laps. Thinking and breathing are important though. You have to be able to do them at all times," he said seriously. He gave her hand a squeeze. "Come on, I want to get this hospital soap smell off of me. You didn't bring any thing that smells like lavender, did you?"

"No, just Jasmine," she said as she pushed open her side of the door.

Frank stayed right next to Tipper as they walked into the bed and breakfast's main hall. She paused when she heard Faraday speaking about how he'd rescued them, carrying all three to safety. She could feel Frank looking up at her, a puzzled expression on his face. It was almost like Faraday had done the complete rescue, instead of just getting them at the kitchen door and yelling through the doorway. "Nice as ye please he's takin' a snooze in his best chair after his afternoon tea," she heard him say.

Frank felt Tipper sigh. "Lets, see how Ian is doing…" he said softly, and Tipper nodded. Frank walked with her upstairs and carefully opened up the door to his room. Ian was still asleep. The doctor had given him something for the pain, and said he would sleep himself out. Tipper gently raised Ian's broken leg on a pillow, and then Frank saw her shoulders slump as they heard Faraday's laughter downstairs with the others.

"I don't think there's anything that's been funny this entire stay," she mumbled under her breath.

"Sure there has been … Since I came to stay with Aunt Jessica, I've been in what the gamers would call Mortal Peril at least once a week. I'm actually getting used to it. We spent an afternoon rolling about in, well, you know. And what about the expression on the ambulance people's faces when they had to ride an hour with us in the back of the ambulance?" He screwed up his face in imitation of how the guy looked as he hung out the window. Tipper found herself smiling at his antics.

Both of them looked up as the door opened and Jessica entered. "Oh Frank!" she said from the door frame. Frank saw she had tears in her eyes as she moved across the room and gathered him up in her arms.

"We are okay, Aunt Jessica. I was just telling Tipper how I am getting used to being in Mortal Peril anyway." His voice was muffled from her hug. He pulled away and escorted her to one of the beds where she sat looking at Tipper.

"I've heard Faraday's version of your rescue … but I want to know everything that happened that you remember. Something isn't right."

"It was Frank who figured out how to escape," Tipper began as she recounted the events. Jessica listened to what she was describing with rapt attention. By the time she had finished, Taylor, Emma, Willie and Seth had come up the steps, each of them holding trays for Tipper, Frank and Ian that had something to eat. Taylor sat on the other side of Tipper and took her hand when she shook her head at the offered food.

"You cannot remain captive to the fear, my dear," said Jessica softly.

"I think I would feel better if I could have brought my tranquilizer gun with me," she said while regarding Taylor. "Whoever grabbed us didn't give us a chance to see them, or to call out. No one noticed us being carried off, or if they did, they didn't say anything. Those Straw Men were keeping everyone occupied. That's the last thing I remember until I woke up in that hole."

Waking early the next morning Taylor glanced about. Tipper was still curled up with her pillow hugged to her chest, and Jessica and Emma were both snoring softly. Giving a glance to the men's room she didn't hear anyone up. It was just 5:30 am as she slipped into the shower and dashed the dust of the day before off of her and dressed quickly. She wasn't hungry. She had things to do while the morning was still young.

Slipping on her shoes once she reached the living room she went out confidently and walked down the lane to the church yard. The sky was incredibly blue for a land that it rained on every day, and the sunlight danced through the leaves of the trees making patterns on the ground. For awhile she walked in the grave area, and frowned. There weren't any graves for Willie's family - she would have thought the father and grandfather at least were there. A gnarled oak stood watch over the graves, its leaves twisting in the wind as she strode up the steps into the church. For a moment she waited in the back of the church, not seeing any movement at all in the inside of the building. She began to read the notices on the back wall and smiled at some of them. Markets and churches were two places where business was conducted at all levels. One notice caught her eye and made her sit down in the pew. She hadn't moved in some time, not noticing the time at all until she felt a gentle touch to her shoulder.

"May I help you, miss?" asked a distinctly cultured voice.

"I don't know - I had a question, but I guess it's been answered in its own way."

"And you don't like the answer that you have found?" he asked. She turned to look at him and realized she was speaking to the parish priest, who looked to be as old as the church. "Father Dania at your service," he said smiling.

"Father Dania? I know that name … I don't remember where, though, that I had seen it … It will come to me though, in time…"

"Well, until then, how may I help you?" he asked as he sat down on the pew next to her.

"I am to be married, tomorrow, but I see that here the church does not marry unless there is a three month waiting period…"

"Yes, that is true. With whom were you marrying?" he asked, curious.

"Thaladirith Razanur," she said, watching his expression carefully. She saw the smile on his face freeze. "I see you have heard of him."

"Yes. His grandmother brought him here to be baptized while I was on sabbatical. I would never have allowed a bastard child to receive such blessings," he said darkly.

Taylor looked beyond him out the stained glass windows to where the oak stirred in the morning light. "I remember now, where I saw your name … it was on a marriage certificate for Thaladirith's parents. His father may be dead, but his mother is here, and could say as much if she wished. You knew he did not bear that stigma, yet were willing to keep that silence. I would wonder why, except I know with out you saying. Your church betrays you," she said, pointing to the stained glass window on the cemetery side. "How much did they pay you to foster the hate upon an innocent child and his family?"

She saw the old priest take a sharp breath in as he frowned. "Furhdaham is a respectable family…"

"A family of thieves, murderers and traitors!" she said, watching him as he began to fume.

"You have no right to say that! Whatever you have been told by that miscreant is untrue…"

"People have died at Kent Furhdaham's hand. Gram was raped by his brother Stephen, and their father was responsible for the kidnapping of two eleven year old boys and a dear friend of mine who are only alive right now due to God's will. What God-fearing family would have a motto of 'Vengeance Comes'?"

"There is none that is more heathen than that of the family you wish to marry into. 'Belief in Ghosts' indeed!" he snorted.

Taylor stood. She wasn't angry at him, and her smile was one that echoed an unknown mystery. "Perhaps then for you believing in the Holy Ghost is wrong?" she asked, curious. "Have you not read that the dead may walk among you? " she said as she began to walk to the stained glass window that held the Furhdaham family crest as a water mark. She stopped and turned. "I was dead, once, for a very long time. Willie brought me back to life. He even saved Furhdaham's life yesterday. Something that the family you hold so much faith in would never do."

There were steps up to the front door, then Willie entered inside and came to where she was standing. He reached out and took her hand in his. "What are you doing in here, lass?" he asked softly.

"Making some discoveries. Father Dania married your parents, but he won't be marrying us, will he?"

Willie shook his head. Then taking her other hand in his asked, softer: "Do you have faith in me?" as he led her out of the church and on to the front yard. Father Dania followed, curious as to what her answer was.

She kissed him gently on the mouth, then said, "Yes."

"True faith that is absolute?" he said seriously.

He saw her eyes sparkle. She turned and looked at the old priest who had followed them outside into the sunshine. Lifting Willie's hand she placed it on her chest.

"_Tabhairt Isteach do,"_ she said simply.

"Your faith is misplaced, my child!" said the priest stiffly from the steps.

"Then may God strike us down, now - for I will not live without this man as my lawful husband. Yet, may he strike the ground of this church raising the dead in retributions if it has been defiled by your faith in those who's hearts have brought evil."

For a moment the old priest regarded them as Taylor closed her eyes and pressed her head into Willie's shoulder. She looked over at the oak tree. "In moment of need, I ask of thee in faith, truth and love," she said softly.

Willie heard the sharp sizzle snap of air being parted not far from them. He pulled Taylor closer to him as a lightning bolt jumped from the center of the oak tree up to the sky and then back down again, splitting it in two. Several windows of the church shattered and the priest was knocked off of his feet down to the ground. They saw the priest roll over to his knees, and stay there with his hands holding his face. He looked at them, his eyes wide.

Taylor stopped him before he said anything. "Careful what you speak," she said, then Willie took her by the hand and led her up to the bed and breakfast. Halfway there he stopped her and took her to the side of the path.

"All that matters in my life is you, beloved," he said softly. She saw the worry on his face as he picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. She wrapped her hands about his.

"Willie, promise me, we will share in all things – it's not the money I mean, but the things that are going on in our lives - our hopes, and dreams, and plans, and the truths in our hearts."

He looked into her eyes. "I promise."

He saw her study his face then ask plainly, "If the church requires three months before marriage, how are we to be wed tomorrow?"

The sunlight made his eyes sparkle. For a moment, Taylor saw something that made her believe what Frank had seen on the plane the night he had flown in with Willie was true. "We filed for marriage in Maine, and there is no waiting period there. I let them know we would be married overseas, here, and they said that it was fine, as long as it was done within the week. It's na the ceremony that makes marriages nowadays, it's the paperwork. It's been entered into the computer that we are to be wed tomorrow. It just takes some one who is allowed by law to say the ceremony to make it final. It is something that people do when they wish to be married on a ship, or in another country, but have it recognized by the country of their home. Does it concern you that it won't be in the church?"

"I thought that if that was the church where you were baptized, and it's the only one in the village, that it would be where we would be married. But I realized when I read the things on the back wall that it wasn't going to be that way," she said wistfully.

Jessica sat on the front porch of the bed and breakfast. No one else was up inside and she wanted a bit of space from people. While they were all her friends and relatives, being in such close quarters was a bit telling on the nerves of someone who had spent years living by themselves. She had closed the door behind her, and noticed that with the morning chill the windows were closed as well. She sipped her tea and watched Willie and Taylor as they spoke on the path.

A car turning down the lane distracted her for a moment before she realized that it was George. She sighed. He had been so formal to her and she didn't have a chance to speak with him while he was there. There were times that she longed to feel his touch, to wake up beside him in bed. The pending marriage of Willie and Taylor had given her something to think about. He was wonderful in bed, but inept when it came to doing things about the house. Seth was still asleep. Had he known George was walking across the front lawn with an overnight bag and a smile on his face …

He came up on to the steps, and after giving a glance into the house he bent over and kissed Jessica firmly on the mouth. He wanted to plunder her sweetness right there and then, but a polite cough from behind him made him sigh and straighten up.

There was a curious expression on Willie's face as he saw Jessica blush. Before he could say anything, Taylor turned him around and said softly, "Allow them a moment to say a proper hello, dearest." She pulled him to a place on the porch that blocked the view from the village.

Willie used that moment to kiss Taylor good morning. After a bit, he heard the creak of the porch furniture as George sat down. Reluctantly he stepped away from Taylor and turned to them. Keeping his voice down he said, "Good morning Inspector, what brings you to the village so early?"

"It occurred to me that as this is a central location to investigate the goings on at the estate, and to search for information as to things going on here, it would be a time saver to check in here and stay awhile."

"Well, Mither's place has every room with some family in it, though I dare say there is a place for a cot if you wouldn't mind sharing it with us," said Willie with a twinkle in his eyes.

"What has your investigation uncovered?" Jessica asked curiously.

She watched as George closed his eyes for a moment before sighing deeply.

"It took a while to remove the compost, but we were able to uncover the remains of at least thirty people, some whom we were able to identify by personal artifacts and others by missing person reports. The person whose skull Dr. Henderson brought out died two years ago. Her name was Haddie, and she worked as a maid there until one day they said she didn't return home."

George saw Willie's face fill with sorrow. "Little Haddie? I brought her into this world nae long ago… She wasn't more than sixteen!"

George nodded. "Most of the bones that were found belonged to young people who vanished unexpectedly, from this village and others that are close to the estate. It was as if an attempt was made to kill everyone young, so that the village and the families would die off. As for Mr. Furhdaham, his doctor has determined that he suffered from a stroke. You helped to prevent more damage with your medical assistance, and there is hope that he will make a partial recovery so that he might stand trial for the murders of those young people."

"George, I don't think he committed every one of those murders" said Jessica softly.

"In as much as I value your wisdom, dear lady, I am very curious as to what would bring you to that decision?" inquired George.

"While you are young and physically fit, from Faraday's description Furhdaham Sr. is a very small man. I don't see him having the strength to lift people and tip them down into the compost area feet first - if they went head first they would have broken their necks. They had to have been lifted and guided down into the hole. He also wasn't here to overpower Tipper, Frank and Ian, and from what the doctor said about how Ian's leg was broken, someone of considerable weight had stepped on it."

Taylor reached down and picked a piece of straw up from the seat beside her. She frowned as she looked at it.

"What is it, dear?" asked George "You have been very quiet with all of this."

"Oh, well, it's just that being from the city all of my life, as a child we would go to the zoo to see the farm animals, and we were told the difference between hay and straw. They are both grasses, but straw doesn't have much nutritional value for the animal, like hay does. Straw is wider and yellow, and inexpensive hay is more slender. They would allow us to give handfuls of hay to the animals to eat, but I avoided it because it always gave me a rash from being poked by it. I guess the straw is from the Straw Men that came yesterday, but did they come to the front porch?"

"It gave you a rash?" asked Willie, curious.

"Yes. It looked like prickly heat, and the zoo person said that it was common if you didn't have contact with it most every day. Some people got the rash even by being in the area, because of allergies."

"Finding hay or straw about isn't that uncommon when you have farms behind the village," said George taking the straw from her and looking at it himself.

"Furhdaham does not have animals himself, but there was a straw on his porch," said Willie with a note of concern in his voice.

Jessica became thoughtful. "It's implying that someone here, or close to what is going on, is responsible for the kidnapping."

"Well, it's a heck of a coincidence," said Taylor. "The Straw Men showing up to dance, finding straw here, and over at Fordham's."

"Wasn't Faraday brushing a fair bit off of himself yesterday?" asked George softly.

Willie shook his head. "That was hay. Thinner stuff. Heard Mither asking him to hitch the wagon to get some for the animals. They keep it in rolls out in the fields. An' he's sweet on Tipper. He wouldn't let her come to harm," he said with a glance between Jessica and George.

"Well, until we know for certain, we're not releasing any information as to what has been discovered. In as much, the only thing else to do is to prepare for your wedding," George said with a smile. "Has everyone arrived?"

"Just a few more that have said they would be here at noon," mused Willie, looking at Taylor.

Jessica regarded them. "In light of everything, perhaps it might be best to have the wedding today, this afternoon, instead of tomorrow. Everything is prepared for it, isn't it? The media will be arriving after lunch to set up."

"What is it, Jessica? I've known you for years now, and I have come to know that look in your eyes…" said George

Withdrawing from the group, Taylor walked down the steps across the yard to sit under the willow tree, where she hugged her knees. It was all moving very quickly now, and there were things that needed to be addressed before the marriage There were important things that somehow she knew were missing, and the moment that was to be one of the happiest days of her life felt empty. She looked up into the blue sky and said to herself, "Be with us today, and forever, grant us your blessing and guide us in your way." She heard quiet footsteps come up behind her. She didn't need to turn to see that it was Willie. He sat down beside her and looked at her, curious.

"Dearest? What is it?" he asked as he brushed the tears from her cheeks with the palm of his hand.

"It's not quite how I imagined my wedding to be, actually. Little girls dream of being wed in the place of their faith, or a place which is special to the two of them, in the eyes of God and man, and the union blessed. Being married is like a team of horses - they both work together, as partners, because if one is stronger than the other, the wagon will tip or the driver won't be able to control the direction. That's how I am feeling right now, Willie. I feel as if I have no control over what is to be one of the biggest decisions of my life."

"One of them? And what would be another?" he inquired gently.

"Should we have children? I don't know - and it's something that we really never spoken of. By rights, it's said that you're entitled to want them. I don't know if I can have any, and I don't know if it's fair to you to not be able to give you an heir. Frankly, I am terrified at the prospect of being a parent. I see the love parents have for their children, the demands that the children have on the parents, and I don't know if I can do that. If I could survive that."

Willie took her hand in both of his and for a moment she thought he was going to just hold her hand. She realized his finger playing over her wrist was carefully taking her pulse.

"There is no cathedral built by man that is more grand than the one built by the Almighty. That he and those in the heavens above may watch over us as we become one as our guests of honor. If they would grant us one gift, it would be of love, and from our love, if it be their decision, would be the birth of children who would bear their blessing," he said to her solemnly as he gathered her into his arms. She clung to him for a moment, feeling very weary. Looking up at him she saw the sunlight behind him and thought him beautiful.

"Can ye manage to walk up for some tea and breakfast?" he asked gently. "And then after, I have something for ye."

Seth turned at the sound of someone coming into the kitchen. Bemused, he noted that George looked ill-at-ease seeing him at the stove wearing one of Mither's aprons as he whipped a few eggs in a metal bowl with a fork and the sizzle of the hot skillet as he poured the omelets out. Mither was kneading bread on the other side of the kitchen chatting to him about the grain that was used in the bread and how it was ground. She seemed pleased that he showed an interest in it. Wasn't just any man that would be willing to put on a pink frilly apron to protect their cloths while they scrubbed the pots for the morning porridge. Nor one who was comfortable with one of the older stoves and had made himself useful to her. She was quite taken by his charm, and that he was single, and a doctor at that.

Willie gave Mither a kiss good morning, then went to where the tea kettle was, washed it out, and placed fresh water in it to boil. He carefully washed the mugs under hot water while the flames brought the water up to temperature, then removing a tea bag from a plastic pouch in his pocket he placed it into the cup and poured hot water over it, steeping it a moment and removing the tea bag before giving it to Taylor. She held the mug to her nose, smelling it, then took a sip of the tea and relaxed against Willie as he stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder.

"I've missed this," she said, looking up at him.

Seth looked back and saw her sip again, closing her eyes and relaxing. He caught the sadness in Willie's eyes as he gazed across the room at the woman kneading the bread. Carefully so not to attract attention to himself he reached over and picked up the discarded tea bag, and gave it a pinch to tear open the pouch. Carefully he held it to his nose, then tasted a drop on his finger before discarding it to the trash. No one noticed as he did this, though he found Jessica looking at him after he turned around. She didn't say anything then, but after the breakfast was cooked for everyone and the dishes done she said to him privately, as they moved to the back yard of the bed and breakfast to oversee the setting up of the decorations, "Willie made that tea specifically for Taylor, and it's done her a world of good."

"Wouldn't doubt it … Jess, Taylor wasn't doing so well this morning when Willie brought her into the kitchen, but she got better right after she drank that tea. With all of the tea that's been brewed here, you would think that some of it would have been that blend before today. He gave Mither a look, like he was disappointed in her. My guess is that he gave her some to be sure Taylor was served it to keep her well. She has enough tea pots she could keep it all straight."

Jessica blinked, then looked back at the bed and breakfast.

"Tea pots!" she gasped.

"Woman, would you stop doing that!" growled Seth.

Willie led Taylor up to her bedroom and sat her on her bed. "Close your eyes!" he said, starting for the door. She looked at him and then smiled when he said "No peaking," sighed and closed them, covering them with her hands. She heard a scrape of something, and then the sound of a zipper being pulled. In a moment his footsteps came back into the room and she heard him say, "Hold out your arms."

She felt something heavy being placed in them, soft, yielding, and when he said "Open them," she did. Looking down she gasped.

"Oh my!" She had to blink a few times. "It's beautiful," she said, gazing down at the wedding dress in her arms. She looked at it, then looked at him. "The material that you had - that bolt – oh, Willie!" she said with tears in her eyes.

She saw he had something else in his arms. Holding it by the top he let the rest of it cascade down. "An' this is for the wedding night."

She reached out and touched the lacy top. "You will look lovely in it," he said, causing her to blush. "I want you to promise me something dearest," he said, kissing her gently. She looked up at him and tilted her head, curious.

Hobbling across the dining room Ian looked out the window at the goings-on in the back yard. Frank was right beside him, helping to steady him as he wasn't used to hopping with one foot everywhere even with crutches. "You don't have to do this for me," he said a bit impatiently.

Frank regarded him owlishly over the rims of his glasses. "I know, but it's been a few weeks since I have been around anyone my age, and while I love my Aunt Jessica, and Willie and Taylor and Tipper and Seth, it's not the same. It's like, dinner time there? All we have is seafood, because everything that walks on land is bloody expensive. While I really do like seafood, after two weeks I wanted anything that mooed."

"So you're saying I'm like a steer?" Ian said a bit defensively as he wobbled.

Frank grabbed him by the back of his pants and steadied him. "I happen to really like the Moo. More than I like seafood."

Frank moved a chair out of the way of Ian as he wobbled by the table and saw a piece of straw on it. He managed to get Ian into the front room where the hassocks were and get him into a chair with his foot up and braced with pillows. From that location they could see the comings and goings of everything, be out of the way, and still be comfortable.

"What's it like to have sisters?" asked Frank suddenly.

The younger boy regarded him, realizing that Frank was serious. "A bit of a pain, actually," he mumbled. "Pattie's all right most of the time. Can't do much without her knowing before I do it. Shauna been a bit daft when it comes to being a middle one. She's seven an' mum says that's a difficult age. Still young, but old enough to be knowing better. Emily's just five. She's na much on reason either. The teachers at school dote on her because she's cute, they say. Cute doesn't put stock in the pot, though. I hope the new one's going to be a boy. Don't know if I can do much with another girl in the family." He regarded Frank and blurted, "Must be weird being an only."

Regarding the young boy's earnest face, Frank nodded. He knew they had come with everything they owned, in two suitcases for all of them, and that they had left everything else behind. Sharing the room with him, he had seen Ian's eyes widen when he saw that Seth had three suits, and that Frank had more than one pair of jeans. Ian was wearing one of Frank's pair now, as his own had been cut away when he had been taken to the hospital and so filthy that they weren't fit even to be washed. Frank's pants fit over the cast and a belt kept the jeans from falling. He was much thinner than Frank was at that age.

"New one? What new one?" Frank asked, coming back to the current conversation suddenly.

"It's why mum has been so sick every time food's waved around, and that she's taken to resting a lot. Didna ye see how large she's getting? Didna they teach ye where the wee ones come from or do ye think the stork places them under the cabbage?"

"I never really had a need to think about it," said Frank, shrugging. He saw Ian's bemused grin.

"So, you live in a large house in the States?" Ian asked.

Frank shook his head. "No, in an apartment. The neighbors are always fighting upstairs, and when I left, the water was leaking so bad that they turned it off. Mum was in a right state about that, the landlord called the police on her, and well, it wasn't good. Gets a bit scary when she gets up a head of steam. She's been doing that a lot lately, or crying. When she's off crying, then dad has to take over things."

"An' your dad allows it? The yelling and the crying jags?" Ian asked incredulously

"Oh, well yes. He's a good man. She's not always like that either. Aunt Jessica and my Uncle Frank raised my dad when my grandparents died in a car accident. My other grandparents, Grandma and Grandpa Mayberry, are okay, I just didn't realize it until later. "

A silence fell between them. Frank saw that Ian was becoming sleepy. Frank heard quiet footsteps and looked over at the door. Ian's sisters were there, peeking in. He saw Emily yawn and lean against Patricia. He motioned for them to come into the room. They really hadn't seen Ian except briefly the night before, and he could see they were a bit anxious about him. Shauna and Patricia sat carefully on ether side of Ian and gave him a hug, then laid their heads on his shoulder. Emily wanted to sit on his lap after her hug, but it caused Ian distress. Frank lifted her up and placed her on his lap where he sat in the oversized chair next to the sofa.

"Are naptime stories any different in America than Ireland?" asked Patricia, regarding Emily as she yawned again.

Frank looked down at Emily. She _was_ cute, as kids go. Her curly hair and freckled up-turned nose reminded him of the child on the grape juice commercial.

"Well, we have the usual run of stories, the duckling one, and the ones with gingerbread houses. Mum said they came from Europe, so you have probably heard them … there is one though, that every kid in America knows about, even if it hasn't been told to them by the parents. It comes, they say, from memories of long ago … Have you ever heard the story of the Monster Under the Bed?" The children shook their heads no.

"Right, then … _Once upon a time there was a little girl who was cute as a button, and her parents loved her very much, but she didn't do as she was told. She wouldn't clean out under her bed or put away her toys when she was told, and when it came to nap times and bed times she would make her parents chase her all around the house many times. Each time they caught her and put her back into bed, she would get up and race across the room to go out her door again, and by the time they caught her for the umpteenth time that night her parents were exhausted. If they were able to get her to stay in bed she would wait until she heard them go down the steps and sit down before calling for them. She would want the light on, or a glass of water, and then she had to go to the - well, you know, after she drank so much water. Then she wanted more covers, or less covers, and her parents who loved her very much were becoming weary of all of this and told her that she would have to manage until the morning._

"_She decided the night that they said that, that she was going to play after they sat down and they wouldn't ever know. So she dangled her feet over the edge of the bed … and a big hairy hand reached up and grabbed at her ankles. Screaming, she lifted her feet up and looked over the edge of the bed. Looking back at her was a monster with fifteen eyes and three rows of very sharp teeth and a tongue that was all drooly that was long and snapped out and snatched one of her dirty socks that she had tossed in the corner. She screamed again, and her father came into the room, turning on the light. Well, the monster under the bed pulled in between her dirty pants and the shoes she hadn't cleaned off and a stuffed teddy bear she had forgotten and closed all of his eyes. Her father wanted to know why she screamed and she told him there was a monster under her bed. The dad looked under there and said that he didn't see any, but if there was, he would surely get lost in everything else that was under there! After scolding her about the fuss, he turned off the light and closed the door. The monster waited until the dad had gone downstairs and sat down before using his eight legs to bump up the mattress, where she lay in the middle trying to stay away from the monster's reach… It was very late in the night before she was able to go to sleep, and when her mother suggested a nap after lunch, she thought it was a good idea … until the monster began to bump under her bed again. _

"'_What do you want?' she asked the monster under the bed. 'How did you get there and what do you eat?" She heard the monster chuckle. "I want to eat you," he said. 'I want to live forever here, and I eat dirty laundry then spit it back out and you have a lovely selection of dust bunnies here! I will grow bigger and soon I can swallow you up in a single gulp," the monster chuckled. _

"_Well, of course the little girl didn't get much sleep that night, she was thinking of what to do, and just when the morning dawn came, she knew what had to be done. She hurried down to eat her breakfast and then got a broom and dust bin and a laundry basket. She cleaned and scrubbed her room from top to bottom, but she saw the monster just slink into a dark corner of her cupboard. The monster tried to eat her broom and a few times was able to snatch the dust pan out of her hand. She had to keep dumping the trash basket into a bigger one because the monster wanted to tip it over and eat the dust she had swept up. Finally she saw that he had lost a lot of weight when he tried to avoid her hitting him with a broom. The morning sunlight was creeping into her room, chasing him into the furthest corner. He couldn't find anything to eat and now she was more than a match for him. 'Now what are you going to do?' she asked the monster. 'Find another bed,' he said, then crept away out of her room forever …" _

"Tha' was a good one," said Emily as she yawned. Her eyes closed on their own accord and she drifted off to sleep in his arms. For a moment Frank watched her as she breathed, then he heard a sigh from Ian.

"You've fallen for her cute too," he said.

"You're very lucky, Ian," he said, regarding the other two girls who had fallen asleep next to him. Frank pulled the lap robe off of the back of the chair and covered Emily to keep off the chill.

He saw Ian look at his littlest sister. "Aye, that I am," he said, doing the same with the afghan on the back of the sofa and covering his two sisters. "So they tell you bedtime stories with monsters in them to get you to sleep?" he asked.

"No. My parents wouldn't do that. But I have found out that most every kid that I know has heard that story from another kid, so there might be something to it …"

The long car pulled into the driveway and snuggled next to the television station's news truck parked under the tree in front of the bed and breakfast. The driver's side door opened, then the driver went around and opened the door for its passengers. Bags were gathered, and the trio went up the steps and into the front room where they were met with hugs from their relatives. Quite footsteps entered into the front room and for a moment, two set of eyes gazed down at the sleeping children.

Frank felt something press against his head. His nose twitched. He smelt something very familiar as he opened up his eyes. He had to blink a few times to focus.

"Mom?" he said quietly.

"Hi, honey … Looks like you have had a busy morning already," she said softly as she nodded to Emily, who was still fast asleep in his arms.

Emily didn't even stir when Grady lifted her up and transferred her to her aunt Emma's lap. When Grady straightened up, he found Frank in his arms holding him tightly. When Frank went to hug his mother, he found her sitting on the other sofa with her head between her knees. He put his arm over her shoulder and bent over to see if she was all right.

"Mom?" he asked gently. He heard a mumble from her. Blinking a few times he stepped back and then hurried from the room to the back yard where Willie was directing where the chairs should be set up. "Willie! Something is wrong with Mom!"

Willie handed the list over to another person and followed Frank in to the front room. Kneeling in front of Donna he lifted her head up with his fingertips and looked into her eyes.

"How long have ye been dizzy and had sick spells?" he asked gently.

"Five months," said Grady, taking her hand in his.

Willie moved Donna's feet around so that she was lying on the sofa and guided Frank to sit beside his mother's legs. "Willie can make you better, Mom, I know he can," Frank said to her. He missed the glance between Grady and Willie, but saw the look of concern on Willie's face when he looked up at him. "You can, can't you? She's not going to die, is she?"

"Everyone dies in this lifetime, Frank. Your mother is ill for a different reason, one that your parents will discuss with you when it's time. For now, it's been a long journey for your mother, and she needs a spot of rest. Her blood pressure is off a bit, and I dare say she's had a bit too much salt in her diet. The salt we can manage, the blood pressure is another matter."

"Would it cause her headaches when she cries and gets upset, or was that just me being a pain?"

"Don't take the weight of the world on your shoulders, lad. I can na give you the answer to that, but I do know, you're not the same lad as before, and time changes everything. Now, stay with your mother, I have some things to speak to your father about."

Frank watched as the two men went out of the room, then out of the house across the yard to stand under the tree. He couldn't see what his dad was saying but the expression on Willie's face was very serious. He saw the look of resignation on his father's face, then saw his father take a breath to steady himself before coming back into the house with Willie.

Taylor was just coming down the steps when they came in, and the person who came with them out of the kitchen with a few crumbs about his mouth. He dusted off his hands and held one out to Willie. "Mr. Thaladirith Razanur, I am Gabe. Adam was delayed and asked me to fill in for him today." Willie looked up at the tall flaxen haired young man with gentle blue eyes and took the offered hand to shake it solemnly.

Coming up to the men Taylor looked at Gabe. "Fill in?" she asked softly.

"Adam was to say the wedding, to marry us," said Willie with concern in his voice.

Laying her hand on Willie's arm Taylor smiled. "It's wonderful that you could come, Gabriel. Thank you," she said, stepping forward and giving Gabe a hug before kissing his cheek.

Willie turned and looked at her, puzzled. "You know him?"

She nodded as she stepped back to Willie's side. "Yes. Tipper and Jessica have met him, too - four years ago when they helped to close down the Nightshade shop. I've known him longer than that, though." She saw Willie breath out a sigh of relief.

"So, are you here just for the wedding?" she asked, brushing a few crumbs from the lapel of Gabe's cream colored jacket.

"I don't know," he said honestly. He tilted his head forward and kissed the top of her head. "Time for you to get ready … Jessica and Angela are upstairs already."

She nodded, and was about to go when she stopped and looked at him. "You will stay awhile, won't you? Tomorrow, Willie and I may be rebuilding some windows that were damaged this morning. And I've never done that before - I know you may have some insight about what should be done there."

"I would be happy to help in any way," Gabe said, smiling.

She stepped forward and kissed his other cheek. "Thank you, Gabe, for everything."

Rosemary pinned the veil on to Taylor's auburn hair that was braided about her head. Her green eyes sparkled with excitement as she caught her reflection in the mirror. The dress had almost fit, being a bit loose until Tipper pointed out that with the other garment that Willie had made for her, it should fit perfectly. The lace of the undergarment just peaked out of the top.

"Well, that's a time saver. Less to pack for the honeymoon," quipped Rosemary, taking a sip of water then placing the glass on the coaster next to a framed photo that sat on the dresser. She saw Taylor blush. Rosemary looked at Tipper. "Could you give me a moment with my new daughter?" she asked. Tipper nodded and stepped out of the room and closed the door.

Rosemary guided Taylor to the bed and sat down with her. "I know you love my son. You would have married him even if he didn't have family or a name, or money, and it didn't matter that he is tall as a child. It didn't matter to me either with his father, who may not have been tall, but he was not short either and my guess is he takes after his father, so you will have no complaints," she said, giving Taylor a wink, and smiling as Taylor's blush deepened. "Marriage is not always about love, or the fireworks that happen for a while that is only a small part of it. Well, a wonderful part of it with the likes …" She paused for a moment. "Thaladirith's father and I didn't have long together, but it seemed a long time. Each day and night was more glorious than the next - until he was gone. Jessica has said to me that my son lives at your home already, but you have kept separate beds. That he looks at you with tenderness, and you to him with joy. You are both grown up enough to know what you want in life and to share with each other in all things …"

Taylor saw Rosemary pause, and struggle with something. She covered the older woman's hand with her own. "What is it? Please, tell me," Taylor asked softly.

Rosemary stood up and took the pillows off of the bed and placed them over the registers in the room. She sat down on the bed and faced Taylor. "There is something you need to know about him, about his family line. He is my son, and I loved his father, but you should know …"

Taylor placed her finger over the older woman's lips. "I know. I think I have known since the moment that we first kissed. It's why he is a healer, and a weaver, and will not take up the sword."

Rosemary took a breath and whispered to her, "There is more, child. There are always twins that are born in the family, the first born to them. Gram has a brother, and Willie's father has a sister, she is with him. It was not said where, because of the blood feud between the families, and the other half was always hidden to keep them safe. Each generation they become more like the others, taller, wiser … In order for the family line to survive, after the birth the father and mother separate and split the children between them so that one side may survive, while the other goes into hiding. "

"But Sara stayed with her husband - they had other children …"

"We were the hidden ones. We could. Willie's aunt and great uncle are hidden, and no doubt she is married with a houseful that the world will never know."

"You wanted to be found, though. You put your photograph in the sword, and the records. Gram didn't know you did, did she?"

Tears came down upon her cheeks. "Aye, I wanted to be found. I wanted someday for my son to know I loved him and that it was the hardest thing for me to give him up, but I knew that to be safe for my daughter I would have to go. You may need to face that same decision, you know."

"Why do they follow that man? Why don't they see his family for what they are?" asked Taylor, waving her hand in the direction of where the estate lay.

"Because they believe he does good for the village. Donations to the church, sending the children who are bright off to the university. He was always in the papers of all the good he was doing. The children never came back from the university, though. Some of them did, but some of them became discontent with the village life and they moved on. There would be letters from them, to their parents, and after a while the letters would stop, and they were never seen or heard from again. There are very few in this town that have not benefited from that man's money. For all of the good he seems to have done, it's robbed the village of its young people."

"Has Mither benefited? Faraday went to the university …"

"I don't know. But she has always had the bed and breakfast, and they have always done well turning the coin even since I was here, and I have never seen trace that she followed that family. So now you know the dangers in marrying my son. You know what is ahead, and what may need to be done. Would you still marry him?"

"You knew this before you married Willie's father, and you did. Willie is my life. I cannot remember what it was like before I met him."

Rosemary leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. "It is like that," she said, smiling as she stood up. "Whenever you're ready, it's time …"

Taking a breath Taylor stood up and looked out the window. "I just need a minute," she said, smiling. She watched the older woman stride from the room and sat on the bed for a moment, looking at the ring on her finger. For the first time, she noticed that it had a thin etching of a vine, and a clover with a small bird nestled in the branches. She looked at the vine and realized it was ivy. Her hand flew to her mouth, then moved down to her chest as she gasped for breath. She closed her eyes against the tears, then stood up. Walking about the room she lifted the pillows off of the registers and placed them on the beds, then paced around the room to come to a stop in front of a photograph of Mither holding baby Faraday with a man standing outside of the bed and breakfast that sat on the dresser. There was something that she saw in the photo. She picked up the water glass that Rosemary had been sipping from and held it over the framed image.

She saw something. Something tucked behind the photo with its edge peaking out. Carrying the frame over to the bed with her she sat down and with her fingers she pushed up the tabs that held the back of the photo to the frame. Carefully she lifted the back away and saw there were several photos that had been kept hidden. She flipped them over one by one studying them, and then, just as carefully, she placed them back in the frame, sealed it up and put it back on the dresser where it had been. It made perfect sense …

There was a knock on the door, and Seth came in. "Oh my…" he said in a hushed whisper. "You're beautiful … Is everything alright?"

"Yes. It is now. I guess it's time?" Seth held his hand out to her and escorted her down the steps to the back door where she saw everything set up. The camera men were away from everything, though she could tell they were wired for sound in every corner. She could see Willie waiting at the area they had chosen to be married at. He wore white, of the same material that she wore. At his side he wore the sword and sheath. Even Frank wore a white vest over his shirt, and though he looked a bit uncomfortable in it, he looked older. Taller as if this moment was the most important thing in his life to do. His parents were up front beaming. Emily was dressed in a simple frock with wild flowers that were tied with ribbons woven in her hair. She went up shyly scattering ivy leaves, clover and flower petals before her. Gram sat in the front next to Rosemary and her children. Flowers had been woven into wreaths about their heads.

Seth tucked Taylor's arm under his, and then escorted her down the path between the rows of their friends and relatives who stood at her entrance. She glanced at Tipper, who had her hair wrapped upward. Faraday was watching Tipper's every move, as if she was a delicate fairy princess. When they came to where Gabe and Willie were standing, Seth stopped and turned her to him. Gently he lifted the veil up and gave her a hug, then a tender kiss upon her forehead. Taking a deep breath they both faced Gabe, who was smiling at them,

"Children of the Father, we are gathered here today in celebration to join Thaladirith MacGill - Razanur and Taylor Rachael Andrews in the union of Holy Matrimony before their heavenly Father, and before his children. Whom the Father has brought together, let no one separate … Who gives Taylor Rachael to Thaladirith?"

Tipper, Seth, Jessica and Frank said seriously, "We do." Seth gave her a last kiss upon her cheek, then stepped back to stand beside Jessica. He took Jessica's hand in his and held it in his own.

Gabe looked at Frank. "The rings…" he said, prompting him. Frank reached in his pocket and pulled away the threads that held the rings secure.

"Repeat after me … Tha mise Thaladirith a-nis 'gad ghabhail-sa Collacarindo gu bhith 'nam chéile phòsda. Ann am fianais Dhé 's na tha seo de fhianaisean tha mise a' gealltainn a bhith 'nam fhear pòsda dìleas gràdhach agus tairis dhuitsa, cho fad's a bhios an dìthis againn beò gus an dèan Dia leis a' bhàs ar dealachadh."

Willie turned and took her hand in his and repeated what Gabe had spoken. He looked down at the ring that had been handed to him and slipped it on her finger as he spoke again in English, "_I, William, now take you Taylor Rachael to be my wife. In the presence of God and before these witnesses I promise to be a loving, faithful and loyal husband to you, for as long as we both shall live until God shall separate us by death."_

Gabe handed a ring to Taylor. For a moment she looked at it, and saw the ivy, the clover, and two birds on it, a band that matched her own now. Willie had practiced with her what would be said and as her heart beat a bit quicker in her chest she took a breath and followed what Gabe was saying.

"Tha mise Collacarindoa-nis 'gad ghabhail-sa Thaladirithgu bhith 'nam chéile pòsda. Ann am fianais Dhé 's na tha seo de fhianaisean tha mise a' gealltainn a bhith 'nam bhean phòsda dhìleas ghràdhach agus thairis dhuitsa, cho fad's a bhios an dìthis againn beò gus an dèan Dia leis a' bhàs ar dealachadh… _I, Taylor Rachael now take you William to be my husband. In the presence of God and before these witnesses I promise to be a loving, faithful and loyal wife to you, for as long as we both shall live until God shall separate us by death._"

Carefully she slipped the ring on the proper finger then looked up at him. Both of them looked at Gabe, who was smiling. "In the sight of the Father, I now bind your hearts together as husband and wife. May your union be blessed by the Father in all ways … You may kiss your bride," he said to Willie.

Stepping up to Taylor, Willie took her into his arms and delivered a tender kiss upon her lips. When they parted he saw that she had a mischievous grin on her face. He was beginning to step back when she caught him by his tie and pulled him in for a kiss that left him breathless. Leaning back a bit their lips separated. She saw something in his eyes as his arms encircled her shoulders and pulled her in again. Taylor heard music, a far-off pipe that had a haunting melody. She felt something wet fall against her and she realized that it had begun to rain. It didn't matter as he held her in his arms, his lips pressed to hers, their hearts beating as one. It seemed a long way away she heard Frank gasp, "LOOK! A RAINBOW!"

They would see it later in the tapes that were made of the event. A perfect miniature rainbow had formed above them, with Taylor and Willie at the end of it. She picked up his hands and kissed the palms of them softly. "I have found my treasure at the beginning and the end of the rainbow of this vow. My heart and love is yours."

Still holding hands, Gabe turned them to face their friends and family. "I present to the Father, and to his children, Mr. and Mrs. Thaladirith MacGill - Andrews Razanur. Let us celebrate today in this union of love and life." He turned to them. "Congratulations," he said solemnly, shaking their hands.

"Thank you," she said, kissing his cheek.

Willie nodded to him the thanks for both of them before he took her hand and slipped it in the crook of his arm. "Are you ready, wife?"

She breathed in deeply. "I am, husband."

He escorted her down between where their friends and relatives stood, followed by his mother and his sister, and her children, then Seth and Jessica, and then Tipper on the arm of Frank who looked just a bit more than smug when he passed by Faraday. Willie had informed him he would have the first dance with Tipper. Not that he knew much about dancing in the way that was required for the first dance. Seth had watched with some amusement as Willie demonstrated the dance the night before in their room, and when he realized that he would have that same dance with Jessica became more attentive to the process.

The relatives filed past them in the receiving line over to where the tables were set up, and while Taylor and Willie posed for photos they mingled with the people who had traveled a distance to witness the event.

Dancing. Tipper realized it wasn't the same as when she danced on the table at her friend from Cornell's wedding, but it was still dancing. Different dancing. For a brief moment she thought about teaching Faraday how to dirty dance, but there were going to be enough shocking events in the neighborhood in the next few days, and a scandal like that would wag tongues back in Cabot Cove where she was the nice, respectable vet. So far she had been (what she considered) lucky. She danced several sets with Frank, who was actually a pretty good dancer for an eleven year old. She danced with Seth, and then with Willie, and even had a dance with Gabe, who was an excellent dancer. She even managed a bit of a dance with Ian, who was looking a bit lost in all of the excitement. He could hobble about, and had to sit down. Then just before Faraday could make his move, Grady rescued her. She danced with Taylor, and then with Emily, and Jessica, and when George cut in to dance with Jessica, Faraday was there extending his hand to her. It was a slow dance and a misstep caused her to fall forward in his arms. She turned her head and found her ear next to his chest, hearing his heart beating within.

"Can ye hear what my heart is telling ye?" he asked softly, slipping into a brogue.

Tipper glanced up at him, realizing that they had stopped dancing, and that he was lowering his head down to her upturned one. Part of Tipper wanted to step away, while the other half was telling her that in a week's time she would be back in America and probably never see or hear from him again. That part saddened her in a way. He had been sweet and kind to her, and he was an easy sight on the eyes.

"Oh Faraday …" she began, not knowing what to tell him. He kissed her forehead.

"I understand lass. I really do," he said with a measure of sadness in his voice.

Tipper stood up on her tiptoes and brushed a soft kiss upon his mouth before she fled from the dance floor into the house, up to where their rooms were. She leaned against the dresser breathing hard. She felt gentle hands guide her to the bed and when she looked up, she realized it was Jessica who had seen her flee and had followed her.

"Tipper, I have known you a long time, and I have seen you face down formidable events. Tell me, what is it?"

"I can't breathe, Jess, when I am near him. I don't know why - or how - I feel dizzy and giddy, and I know it's not love … not what I would think love would be. He is so beautiful and sweet and kind … most of my graduating class would trade their practice to be with him."

"I take it you're looking for someone dependable who can fix the plumbing, and put the storm windows in, and change the diapers?"

"Children? I've known him a day!" she said, a bit panicked. "Oh, why didn't I bring my tranq gun?"

"You do care for him, though … otherwise your heart wouldn't be so conflicted." Jessica held out her hand to Tipper. "Come along, we should really be getting back to the reception."

Sighing, she stood up, took Jessica's hand, and followed the older woman back outside to where the people were still dancing. Faraday had moved off to the side and was sitting glumly, and looked at her when she came out. He stood up when she came over to him and she bid him to sit back down.

"Faraday, I have to be honest with you. My heart is terrified of the possibilities. I can't breathe or think when I am around you. I - just, well, things like this - I've manage all my life avoiding things, because it means dealing with people, and I'm better at understanding animals. I know pretty much what goes on in their hearts. I just can't tell what is going on in my own."

"I understand," he said, taking her hand in his.

"You do?" she said with surprise. She hadn't expected, really, to blurt out what she had, and to have him understand it was a relief. He lifted her hand up and kissed the back of it.

"Faraday?"

"Yes, lass?" he asked, tilting his head to one side to gaze at her.

"I can't breathe."

Mither regarded the kitchen. One would think that after feasting all day, and the wedding, and the constant stream of people through her doors to attend the festivities, the place would be a shambles. People were dancing still under the stars, and she had come down to see to everything. It was all away. Every dish, spoon, even the leftover food was wrapped and placed away during the time that she had been helping to serve the wedding cake. She opened the drawers. Not a single spoon had been lost.

She heard a footstep behind her and when she turned, she saw it was Flynn. His face was unreadable as he came down to where she stood at the sink. "A word with your son is in order," he said softly.

Mither watched him turn and leave the kitchen. She leaned against the counter and lowered her head. It was the first time that she had seen Faraday like this. Flynn was a good man. He had taken her as a wife when Faraday was two, and not many men would do that. The town could use a good vet. She knew what she wanted to say to her son, but she couldn't. If she forbade him, she would lose him, if she told him to follow his heart, she would lose him again. She felt the burn of hot tears against her eyes and closed them. Mither didn't hear the footsteps entering into the kitchen and only opened her watery eyes when a soft hand touched her own.

"Oh!" she said, seeing Willie and Taylor standing there. "I came down to do the dishes, and it was all done! 'Tis na right for the guests to do the work! They might be makin' the beds next!"

Reaching out Taylor took Mither's hand. "We are all family now, Mither," she said, then gave Mither a hug. "Thank you."

Mither eyed Willie. "You're off then?"

Willie nodded. The bags had been taken down to where they were staying shortly after the decision was made to be married that afternoon. She saw Willie's eyes twinkle. Willie kissed Mither's cheek, causing her to blush. He stepped close to her, and hugged her for a moment. "Thank you, Mither," he said softly.

Fresh tears came to Mither's eyes. "Well, don't keep your bride waiting!" she said with a smile.

She watched them go out the back door of the kitchen, past where people were still dancing and celebrating. For a moment she watched them through the window as they walked down the lane, then her gaze was drawn to the window of the back door. She could see the people dancing. Faraday was with them, dancing with Tipper. She leaned against the counter. Somehow, she knew that it would be the last happy moment he would have.

Taylor's eyes quickly adjusted to the moonlit path and as they rounded the bend, she saw that the light was on at Gram's. She paused and regarded Willie, curious. "We're staying at Gram's tonight?"

"Aye. You know there are three rooms. One we use for guests or the ill, one mine, and one Gram's." He saw her lower her head. He lifted her chin with his finger tips. "Wife, are you concerned that we will be keeping her up?" He lifted his other hand and caressed her cheek, feeling her blush.

Taking a breath, she looked at him and said, "Well, yes husband, I am." She watched his eyebrows furrow as he blinked several times, fathoming what she had said. His eyebrows went higher as the meaning occurred to him. She raised her hand to his cheek and felt his own blush.

Pre-dawn arrived with the sound of the song birds outside their bedroom window. Taylor felt a shift on the mattress as Willie sat up, then bent over retrieving something from the floor. "Get up," he said softly, kissing her shoulder. Blinking the sleep from her eyes she sat up then stood, shivering slightly in the morning air. She turned and picked her robe off of the bed post and slipped it over her thin shoulders. She watched him as he took a bundled sheet out of the room and, curious, she followed him. Taylor was unprepared to see her husband in just his shorts and shoes walk out of the house and stride to the tree in the front yard. He eyed the branches, and giving himself a lift up, he slung himself up to the branch that ran parallel to the road and the village.

"Willie! What are you doing?" she hissed from the door frame. She saw him take something from the tree and realized they were pins that he had to have placed in the tree when he brought their bags down before. It wasn't until he let the sheet unfurl that she saw his intent. Both of her hands clapped over her mouth and she turned beet red.

"WILLIE!" she said in a louder voice. He turned his head to where the village was and saw more than just a few curious heads glancing in their direction. He climbed down the tree and stepped back, regarding his handiwork as he brushed off the bits of bark from the tree from his hands. Nodding that he was satisfied, he turned to see her in the door frame, quite mortified.

He took her hands away from her mouth and held them. "It's na about proving that I was your first. Look at it, wife. What do you see?"

For a moment she forced herself to look. He saw the realization come upon her as she raised her hand up to her mouth to gasp again.

"How? How did your family crest come to be made that way?"

She saw him shrug before he led her through the door back to their bedroom, and with his foot close the doors behind them.

Jessica sat in the kitchen at Mither's regarding the selection of tea pots and the tea caddy. The back door opened and closed behind her. She turned her head and saw Flynn come in brushing off bits of things from his pants. She knew that the life of a farmer was much like that of those who fished for lobster out of the ocean.

"Where are you off to today?" Flynn asked pleasantly.

"To the estate. The inspector has organized a search party for more remains and more clues as to who is behind the kidnapping. We hope to take the afternoon to do it."

She saw Flynn become somber as he scratched his scraggly beard. "Good luck to ye, then," he said before walking out of the kitchen. Jessica heard his footsteps go across the hall, and then heard a door close. She folded her hands in her lap and was studying her nails when George came in the back door and walked over to her.

"Are you ready, Jessica?" he asked, kissing her cheek softy. He saw her expression. "Dear lady, what troubles your heart so?"

"I know who is behind all of this, George."

"I know you know. I know you very well, Jessie MacGill Fletcher, and I have seen that look in your eye since yesterday. Our friends are in place - they know to touch nothing, only to observe. Shall we go?" he asked, extending his elbow in her direction. She walked with him out the back of the house to the back lane, where she saw the crowd of people and several cars that were ready to go.

Jessica walked into the study and watched as the man picking up the china on the tray turned and almost dropped everything.

"Why, Mrs. Fletcher, what a surprise. You will excuse me while I tidy up the place a bit," he said, dropping the tray and the tea pot and letting them shatter on the floor.

Jessica took a breath as Flynn pulled out a small revolver from his pocket.

"Clumsy me," he said with a wintry smile. "Oh, please say, 'It won't work, Flynn,' or, 'You won't get away with it.' Because it already has worked … and I so love the melodramatics that Willie's family has brought into our lives."

"You mean, your effort to fake the stroke for Mr. Furhdaham? You weren't here, and Faraday neglected to say that Willie gave Mr. Furhdaham mouth-to-mouth and could taste the same residue on his lips that was on Taylor's after you slipped something into her tea two days ago. Being a healer, he knew exactly what it was. You were counting on Mr. Furhdaham dying here, weren't you? The herb would be found, and Willie blamed because of the kidnapping. You even called the police to let them know Willie was going after Mr. Furhdaham by himself, and had no alibi. You didn't count on Faraday losing his nerve when it came to murder and rescuing those he helped to kidnap. When we arrived he was wearing a blue oxford shirt, yet when he came back from the hospital, it had changed to green. It had to have taken two of you to lift them into the wagon as quickly as you did. Mither made sure Faraday knew you wanted the wagon hitched up to get hay, but this is the summer - the horses would be turned out to pasture to graze, and wouldn't need to rely on hay for their sustenance."

Flynn regarded her, his face no longer smiling. "A man can have someone hitch the wagon if he wants. An' a man can change clothing midday if he wants as well. You have nothing except flights of fancy, Mrs. Fletcher."

She sighed. "Well, we have the tea pot, and the tea residue that helped the doctors determine how much was put into his system. You might be distressed to know that after everyone was taken to the hospital, Inspector Southerland returned here with a warrant, and managed to exchange the tea pot and serving tray with one that I happened to have purchased in the village the day that we arrived. He was going to ship it back home for me, but seeing the need, he made the exchange before anyone knew. Your fingerprints were on the bottom of the original tray. That couldn't be helped, I suppose - though you could wipe them off the tea pot and tea cups, they would still remain when you carried it in to Mr. Furhdaham. Faraday didn't know that the intention was to kill Furhdaham and the others, did he? I knew, once you heard we were coming back here to collect evidence, that you would return to make sure that there was no connection to you. Innocent people have died."

Flynn didn't say anything for a moment. "There are no innocent people, Mrs. Fletcher," he said, his voice becoming hard.

The door opened behind Flynn and Tipper and Faraday came through it. Faraday was a bit surprised to see the gun. "You said no one was to get hurt," he said.

"I said 'no one _important,'"_ Flynn replied, swinging the gun point blank in Tipper's direction.

"NO!" Tipper felt herself being spun around and then jolted backwards as she and Faraday fell to the floor. Tipper heard a scream, and felt a heavy wetness spread through the material of her top. She struggled a bit, unable to move and realized someone was on top of her. In a rush the weight lifted off. Some one helped her sit up. Tipper looked around and saw that it was Jessica, and that George had gently rolled Faraday off of her. She pushed George away. Bright blood bubbled from just under Faraday's right arm. His eyes were wide and a trace of blood trickled down from his mouth. Tipper placed her hand over the gasping wound. From the sound of the air issuing from the hole she knew he had a punctured lung, and the amount of blood coming past her fingers told her there was more damage within.

"I'm sorry," Faraday managed to say with great effort. Tipper put her arm under his head and raised his body, allowing his shattered lungs to work a bit better.

"WILLIE!" Tipper yelled, then looked down at Faraday as she cradled him in her arms, desperately trying to stop his life blood from leaving his body. She knew that Willie was close - they had been a few rooms over when Faraday had heard Flynn's voice speaking with Jessica. Curious, she had taken Faradays hand and led him down the hall to the back entrance of the study. She knew George was in the front speaking to one of the officers who had come at his request. They hadn't been sure exactly what or whom they would find.

Willie came through the door and glanced at Flynn. George's bullet had taken care of keeping him where he could do no further harm. He hurried over to where Tipper held Faraday, and saw blood on his left arm. Ripping open the shirt, he saw bruising on the left side of his body.

"Faraday … please, don't give up … Please … don't give up …" Tipper said, holding him closer as Willie bunched a handkerchief under her hand to help with the pressure. He looked up at her and made a small shake of his head.

"Faraday - would you like to hang your wash next to mine?" asked Tipper urgently.

She saw him focus on her. "Aye ..."

Bending down she kissed his lips gently. When she straightened up Tipper saw Faraday blink and look beyond her. "Myrna…" he said softly.

Turning her head she looked in the direction that he was. She saw a young girl who looked a lot like Mither standing next to a young man she didn't recognize. She felt Faraday take a breath, then it rustled out of his body. Tipper looked back, and saw him standing next to the young woman, hugging her. For a moment their eyes met, and then he walked out the door with the young woman between him and the other man.

Jessica watched as the police hauled Flynn to his feet and escorted him handcuffed out of the room. Taylor went to Tipper and held her as she sobbed over Faraday. The village would be unprepared for the amount of tragedy that it would soon face.

Taylor looked at Jessica. "He was kin to Willie … Myrna was his twin. From Mither's first marriage. There is a photo in the room of her holding Faraday, and someone else holding Myrna on the porch … Gram."

TBC…


	27. Chapter 27

Come Across the Big Pond

Part Two…

_**Tar ar an t**__**Aigéan**_

_Disclaimer. I don't own the characters that are found in the Murder She Wrote TV series, or in the book form. They are the property of someone else. I __*** **__do * own the characters that I created. The character of Dr. Tipper Henderson was created by Anne, and is used with her permission. To read more about the adventures of Tipper, Google "Murder She Wrote" and go to the "Definitive Guide to Murder She Wrote." _

_This story (Tabhairt Isteach Do ) is several stories within one, starting with Picture Perfect Murder. It was broken up into chapters and placed on as such to make it easier to read. I hope to have several more written covering the extraordinary summer of Frank Fletcher Jr. While this one concludes the Big Pond story, it is another chapter in the events that will unfold over time. _

_Author's note & warning… Thanks to Anne for being my Beta on this series. This story has a warning of 13+ due to language, beliefs and customs that may offend some people's sensibilities. Also, while this story is set in the MSW universe not every thing will be solved by Jessica. _

_If you have traversed this far, please sign a review so that I know you have read it! Don't be shy! _

_Kats_

_© June 09 2006. finished June 29th2006_

Seth woke to the sound of birds chirping outside his window and a pleasant feeling of bliss radiating through his body. For a moment he lay very still, savoring the feeling. He had thought, with the amount of dancing he had done the night before and all of the food he had eaten, that he would be either ill or so stiff that he wouldn't be able to move for a week. He felt glorious. Opening one eye Seth focused on the clock that sat on his night stand. He hadn't set the alarm. Jessica had told him to sleep himself out the night before, and to continue with what he had planned. George had an idea to catch who was responsible and it was important that everyone did everything they had planned to do before the kidnapping to catch the culprit unaware. This morning Seth was to meet with Gram and one of the camera men and she was going to show him some of the herbs that they had used in healing people. Willie had felt it was important that some record be made of what was being done. Book learning was fine, but the hands-on experience was something that couldn't be duplicated. Younger doctors were too deep into the pills. He had seen first hand how the paste that Willie had made was helping Anthony.

The clock face finally came into focus. 8 am. Most everyone would be up and he could smell the heavenly scent of fresh baked bread. Taking a breath he rolled over and tossed the covers back as he sat up. His eyebrows went up. Not even a twinge. Willie had made tea for Seth and Jessica before the wedding. He had informed them to drink it at bed time, and that he would have a sound sleep. Seth had. The pain that he would normally have in the waking hours was gone. Putting his robe around his shoulders he gathered his shave kit and towel and headed to the shower. Grinning at finding an open door he stepped into the small room and latched the lock. He knew from years with his wife and children how to be very quick in the shower, and how to not yell when the cold water hit. He was in, showered and shaved in three minutes and in another two, dressed and down the steps into the kitchen. He saw Rosemary and Emma washing the dishes while Mither stirred the porridge on the stove. Ian and Frank were at the table with the girls and Sara. Seth knew that Grady and Donna were still in bed. They had had a long trip and weren't used to the time change yet.

"Good morning… Mither that bread smells heavenly…" he said eyeing the cooling loaves of bread.

She slapped his hand away from the bread knife drawer. "Na, tis for the soup for mid-day meal. I know you're away to speak with Gram soon, so here ye go - this porridge will keep ye full til then…" she said pushing the bowl of porridge that she had just scooped out into his hands. "The cream is on the counter by the spoons." She pointed over to the other side.

Seth looked down at his porridge. _"I have to be an adult about this in front of the children," _he thought, "_but fresh toast made with that bread with clotted cream would be heavenly…and I don't even know what porridge is except something that they sing about in nursery rhymes being nine days old."_ Seth pulled up a chair after putting some milk on his porridge and dipping his spoon into the gooey mass lifted it halfway to his lips. _"It smells just like oatmeal…" _Pausing, he regarded the bowl. He hated oatmeal. With a passion. He made it a point to have all of his patents eat oatmeal at least four times in a week because it was reputed to lower cholesterol and he would have fewer complaints from his patients regarding constipation, but as a rule he had vowed never to eat that wall paper paste again if his life depended on it.

Frank wore a bit of a smirk on his face. "Aunt Jessica told Mither that you love oatmeal - that's the same as their porridge - and that you eat it every day at home…"

"Ay, an' I can have it for you every day here as well. No wonder ye are such a fair and fit man for your age," said Mither with a wink putting the pot on the back of the stove with a lid to keep it hot.

"_Yes, Jess, I think it's time that we ran that colonoscopy you have been putting off … I am in hell, woman! Oatmeal every day? The airplane's rest rooms can't handle that sort of workout for fifteen hours, woman! Let alone there are only three restrooms here and over twenty-four people with two of them pregnant, eight of them elderly, and a fair number of them kids who have to have multiple trips in there so they won't have accidents… When I get my hands on you …" _Seth closed his eyes envisioning the tests that he could dangle over Jessica's head for doing this to him.His belly rumbled. He sighed and opened his eyes. Swallowing, he guided the spoon to his mouth and knew it wasn't going to get any better if he let it linger on his taste buds. It clung to the back of his throat as he swallowed again for the third time. He sighed again and took a sip of milk. Ian eyed him sympathetically. Looking both ways to be sure his sisters weren't paying attention he shoved the sugar bowl over to Seth.

"It helps. I love it as much as ye do, Dr. Seth," he said under his breath.

Seth looked at Ian. While he was small for his age, he was also underweight. It was with a pang that Seth realized that perhaps the porridge was all that Ian and his family could afford to eat, and while Seth detested the stuff for different reasons, Ian probably hated it because it was the same each day. He wondered how different Ian's life would have been had they stayed together as a family, here in the village. The next thought was that knowing the other side, Ian's mother wouldn't have survived to adulthood. It was a fair guess that by killing off all of the youngsters or a good many of them, Willie's family would have died out long ago if some of them hadn't gone into hiding.

"Maybe we can find other things we might like too, later," he said with a wink to the boy. Ian scooped several spoonfuls of sugar onto the porridge. Seth stirred it in and took another spoonful. The sweetness took away the gooey taste. It was manageable. He winked at Ian and took another bite. Seth felt Mither's watchful gaze on him as he worked his way down to the bottom of the bowl. Fishing for the last bit, he asked Ian, "Lad, have you ever had grits?"

Ian shook his head. "Wha's in them?" he asked, curious.

"Well, grits are bleached corn meal that's been boiled. You can make the northern variety called 'mush' with the unbleached corn, and the same ground grain is used to make corn bread."

"Really? Oh, I love the corn bread we get at school, there never is enough of it sometimes … right, Pattie?" His sister nodded, smiling.

"Maybe for tomorrow's breakfast I can make up some good old-fashioned southern grits for breakfast … and make corn bread with the rest of the meal. We smother it in a good chicken stock gravy and it is heaven." He looked at Ian and winked.

Pattie looked at Seth. "Dr. Seth, does Aunt Jessica like grits?" she asked, curious.

He grinned " Why, yes she does. Even more than I love oatmeal…" _"Oh yes, Jessica Beatrice MacGill Fletcher, you will love tomorrow's breakfast and all that follows!" _

Seth heard the rattle of the pot's lid and knew Mither was going to come around with another scoop for the kids. Standing up, Seth carried his bowl to the sink and dipped it in the dishwater to wash it. He saw that Rosemary seemed distracted by something outside, and looking out, he saw a short bandy legged man that had his hair slicked back and was wearing a clean shirt. He had to blink several times before he realized that the man was Toot, and that he was actually clean shaven and by the looks of it, had taken a bath as well as washed his clothes. Seth saw Toot duck behind a tree to hide when he was seen at the window. Glancing at Rosemary he realized she had a bit of a blush on her cheek.

"There is a new priest arriving later this morning, if any of ye wish to meet him," Mither said, taking her apron off and hanging it on the hook. "There is still more porridge left for the sleepyheads or if any of you lot wish to have more. I'm off to the parish, then the market. Flynn's off fishing for dinner, and Faraday is off with young Dr. Henderson."

"Is there anything we can do to help with lunch, Mither?" asked Ian.

She paused, then nodded. "I've about thirty pounds of potatoes that need peeling and then to be soaked in cold water till I get back. Would ye like to help that much?"

Ian nodded. "Na doing any relay races today. Peeling would be fine… can do that while the girls take their naps."

Seth closed the door behind him as he walked out of the house with the young camera man beside him. Gram was already up sweeping the cobblestone pathway to her house. She looked up at Seth and waved. It took a moment to get both of them wired for sound. For a while Seth felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car. Gram pressed tea on him and after a few sips he relaxed.

"I noticed that Willie, and you, do a lot of healing with different blends of tea. How do you know what should go into each different tea?" he asked, curiously looking at the remains of the tea leaves.

"Na all cures can be made with tea, or plants. Sometimes cures come from animals, or insects, or even different minerals of the earth. To heal, you have to know what is wrong. Na a lot of doctors can do that. They may think they have the source of the problem. Sometimes the cures are almost the same. Skin, hair, nails, eyes, they all tell. Someone said, 'the eyes are windows of the soul,' if you believe in that. What you need to know is when you look at a person and see them, even if you know them, see them for the first time. Look to see if their hair is good, or breaking, as well as the nails and the beds of the nails."

Gran smoothed her skirt and for a moment looked shyly at the camera as it clicked on. Taking a breath she began by showing Seth the house, and the surgery, and then the herbs that she had drying. Some of the herbs Seth knew, and a few he raised his eyebrows at when she waggled them in the direction of the town. There were things to cure, things to help. Herbs to sooth and to hasten. What impressed Seth the most was her decision of dosage. She knew how much of the medication was found in each plant, and how many seeds or petals or leaves, or how much root was needed to cure, and how much would kill.

They walked around the outside garden to the front where Seth happened to notice the sheet hanging on the tree. It took a full minute for Seth to realize what it was. Gran followed his gaze and gave it a nod.

"Aye, triplets for sure before St. Paddy's Day," she said a bit proudly.

Seth shot her a glance. "Triplets? ... Do they know?"

She gave the men a grin and chuckled to herself. Seth wasn't sure if she was pulling his leg, or if she was serious. She went to the edge of the house and picked up her walking stick, and tossed it to Seth. "Come on lad. Tis been a while since I went out and about and I have a feeling there will be a need for some healing today."

Seth followed her out of her yard and down the path that lead up into the meadow. A few times he would stop and just take in the view, then Gram would tell him to hurry along. Seth looked at the cameraman, puffing for air. Gram wasn't out of breath at all. "And she is 97..." he gasped to the cameraman.

Gram was having a great time making up wild cures with some of the things she would point out - telling them that if they had a combination of some herbs and flowers parts of the body would swell up, go plaid and fall off. The camera man was taking all of it in and when she said the bit about going plaid and falling off he gasped, "Really?"

Gram looked at him with a twinkle in her eye and said, "Absolutely."

"Let him go, lass," said Willie's voice behind Tipper. "They have to take him now."

"I have to keep pressure on the wound, you know that…" she mumbled, holding on to Faraday's body tightly.

"The lads here will do that. Let them… it's alright, lass." Gently Willie managed to release Tipper's hold on Faraday and helped her to her feet.

Willie felt Tipper shiver. "Are ye hurt lass?" he asked her, guiding her out of that room into the next.

Tipper shook her head. "No... It's my fault he is dead…"

"Oh, no, lass, no. Flynn did it, an' he did the stuff before," said Willie, trying to comfort her.

"He knew, though. He was involved. How could I have been so stupid to fall for him?" she asked Willie as she tried to wipe the tears from her eyes, and instead smeared Faraday's blood on her face. She looked at her hands and saw the blood on them. Her body began to shake harder. "Oh Faraday…" she said softly.

Tipper heard footsteps approach. There was a murmur, then a cup was pressed to her lips. She gagged at the bite of the drink and looked at Willie, who encouraged her to take a few sips before he put it aside. "I saw him go. He hugged his sister and then looked back at me before they went through the door… He said he loved me…How could he have been helping Flynn and still love me?"

Taylor took a sip of the smooth Irish whiskey herself from the cup they had pressed on Tipper. It burned all the way down and brought warmth to the chilled air. "I don't think he knew what Flynn's true motive was or why. He didn't mean for anyone to be hurt over this, and if Frank hadn't found the way out, I believe that Faraday would have found a way in to rescue you. He may have helped in the beginning, when he didn't know you and was following what his stepfather wanted. George has arranged for a car to take us back to Mither's place. She will have to be told as well as the others," Taylor said to her friend gently.

Jessica and George watched as the ambulance and the car that contained Tipper, Taylor and Willie pulled away from the house. The whiskey that Willie had given to Tipper had stopped her shaking like a leaf and calmed her somewhat.

There were a few officers still inside. Others had taken Flynn away earlier. The officers that had stayed were young, and a few looked about the house with trepidation. She saw one tall thin officer look about the great hall where the grand staircase was, and up the steps to the stained glass window. She could see his large adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed.

"Is something wrong, Officer O'Neil?" she asked the young man gently.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mrs. Fletcher… It's just this place – it has always been said it's haunted, cursed and blessed at the same time," he said, shifting his hat in his hand.

"That's a rather curious combination, wouldn't you say?" she said, following his gaze up the steps to the stained glass window. Far enough away one could take in the entire window. It was entwined with ivy and clover with birds fluttering over it. In the center of the window was a large stone with a sword pierced through it, and the golden path from it led to a rainbow that led to a pair of birds in a nest of the ivy; in the nest were three eggs. Taking a step closer to look at it, Jessica was startled to see something else as the sunlight broke through the window. She stopped walking and gasped as the view on the window changed. She could see faces in the window, people gathered around the stone with the sword and one person kneeling before it, pulling the sword out of the stone. Blood ran from the stone. Just as fast as the image was there, it disappeared when the sun moved behind a cloud.

"Ye saw it too?" the young officer said, looking at Jessica.

She nodded. "But it's not there any more…"

"Ye are na going mad Mrs. Fletcher. It's there. An' they say there are other images that ye can see in different places where ye stand during different days. They explain it as polarized painting of the stained glass, though it had to be done in such a planned way when the glass was being made that only the person doing it would know. Some say they were what you call wizards tha' made this place. Others say it was the work of the wee folk who made it a home when one of their own married a mortal lass. He couldn't bring her to his people lest he would lose her, so he brought his magic and wealth here for his family to have. It is said that one day, the true heir will walk again in these halls, and there will be a gathering of all the departed, in a way that the treasure that was long hidden from the greedy folk will be brought forth, and the curse will be broken. All who were in the family by marriage or blood will have the luck of the Irish wee folk with them, and all who defied the family will lose their dearest blood to the curse. Two noble families once lived in this house, Mrs. Fletcher. One stayed; the other left with the curse…"

Jessica regarded the young officer. "Oh, I don't know, it depends on what you believe is the real curse," she said softly. Jessica turned and looked at the window as the sun came out from behind the clouds. The people's faces were there - standing around the man, or more precisely standing to one side, and it looked like the sword was above the stone, then with a shift, the sword went into the stone and the image disappeared all together. She looked back, and saw the young officer had been distracted by something else.

"What is it, Officer O'Neil?" she asked, curious.

He held up his hand. "A banshee wailing…" he said softly.

Jessica listened. She did hear something. "That's not a banshee, Officer... follow me!" Jessica went up the steps of the grand staircase, following the sound. It was a low-pitched moan that echoed through the air registers.

Entering into a room that had a closed door, the noise stopped. Jessica looked around the room. It was a bedroom that had a small mattress on the floor and scattered toys in a corner, where there was a lump of a dirty blanket. Officer O'Neil had his hand on his gun, but Jessica shook her head and closed the door and had him stand in front of it. The lump of the blanket moved.

"It's alright now, you're safe. You can come out…" Jessica said, walking forward.

The blanket moved again, this time springing upward as a filthy being in rags charged at Jessica with the intent of knocking her over to get past her and out the door. Officer O'Neil stepped forward and managed to scoop up the being as it changed its path for the door.

George heard the wild shriek down below and raced up the stairs. He didn't know what was behind the door, but he could hear Jessica's voice and opened it with the intention of rescuing her. What he faced instead was a three foot tall wall of wiggly, snarling monster that he managed to lift up with both hands and hang upside down to avoid getting teeth sunk into his arms and in the process, was kicked a few times in the face. Officer O'Neil was nursing a bloody arm, and limped over to George with his hand cuffs out.

Jessica hurried over and waved the cuffs away. "Close the door, and stand in front of it. George, please put her down."

"Her? This hellion is a her?" gasped George.

"Put her down, George."

"But… But - Jessica!"

"George."

He carefully turned the child right side up and then placed her on her feet Jessica took the child's hands in hers, and bending over to face the child she said sternly, "Now young lady, there will be no more nonsense from you. No one will hurt you, we're here to help you. The first order of the day is to get you a proper bath, and then some food. There will be no more biting or trying to run away. Come along now." She straightened up and faced Officer O'Neil. "Officer O'Neil, where is the nearest bath, and would you be so kind as to run some water in the tub for us, about fifteen inches, and Inspector Sutherland, if you could find something suitable for this young lady to wear when her bath is finished?"

Tipper was quiet during the drive to the village. She felt as if there was a huge hole in her heart that nothing could fill. All of the beautiful green of the land was now a flat gray. She could hear the sound of people singing as they went past the church, and up the lane. It sounded rather like angels singing.

The officer parked the car and opened the door for them. Tipper sat a moment, but then allowed Taylor to lead her up to her room and help get her washed up and changed. It was just a few steps to the bed and while she wasn't sleepy, she was cold deep inside. She felt her feet being lifted and a quilt pulled over her shoulders as she closed her eyes, willing an inner strength to deal with what she was feeling. Taylor had her sit up for a moment as she made Tipper drink a dark bitter liquid from a small glass. Almost right away Tipper felt her eyes go heavy and she seemed to melt into the bed.

Willie entered into the kitchen, where he saw Ian with his leg propped up on another chair with a pillow under it peeling potatoes with Grady. "Where are all the others?"

"Down at the church welcoming the new priest," said Ian. "Grandmum is about somewhere. Frank and his mum went to look at the kittens in the back shed. She's na much for food today. They only left a minute ago."

Nodding, Willie went out the back door and hurried up the path to the shed. He could see Frank helping Donna, keeping her steady as she walked, and that just as they got to the side of the shed, they paused. Willie could see Frank listening to something. Frank stepped forward to look through the window. Donna, being a bit taller, was able to see down into the shed from the window. She pulled Frank back and covered his mouth to prevent him from saying anything. As Willie ran up the path and came to them, Donna's mouth was opening and closing like a fish. Frank had pulled away from her, gotten her a log to sit on, and guided her onto it.

Willie entered the shed. The light from the window illuminated everything he didn't want to see as he strode across the wood floors where the feed sacks were kept. Reaching down he grabbed Toot by the back of the neck and pulled him backwards from Rosemary.

Outside of the shed Frank heard a few indistinct words, and then they became louder. "Striapach !Craiceann a bhualadh le…" He stood behind his mother and covered her ears.

Donna looked back up at him and saw Frank wincing at what was being said. She reached up and took his hands away from her ears and said softly to him, "Honey? I don't understand a word they are saying. Do you?"

She saw Frank flinch. "Uh, yeah… Most of it is stuff Willie says when he smacks his thumb with a hammer. That happened a lot when he was building the looms. Sheriff Metzger says I'm not to repeat any of it. What were they doing, mom? Why is Willie so upset?"

Donna hesitated. She could feel color rise to her cheeks as she looked up at her son.

The shouting ended with the sound of a slap. There was a silence, then something was said before the door to the shed opened and Willie came out. He slammed the door shut and stood looking down at the dirt. The imprint of a hand was bright on his cheek. Willie couldn't look at Frank or Donna for a moment, and when he did, they saw the brush of tears in his eyes.

"We have to get down to the house before the others come back. The kittens will wait for another day."

Frank noticed that Willie was very tight-lipped on the way back down the path. He escorted them to the kitchen where Taylor had joined Grady and Ian. Frank noticed that Taylor's eyes were red rimmed. There was something else that he saw, that he hadn't noticed on Willie before, but with the two of them together it was more noticeable. It wasn't a pattern that he saw on their clothing, it was blood.

"Where is Tipper?" Frank asked with trepidation in his voice.

"She's upstairs, in bed. I gave her something to help her sleep," said Taylor softly. She looked at Willie, who had guided Donna to a chair. Taking a breath she continued. "They caught the person who was responsible for what had happened… but not before… not before Faraday was shot. He… he didn't make it. The bullet went into his lungs and hit the other side."

"Who would shoot Faraday?" asked Frank, curious.

"Flynn," said Taylor softly.

"His own father?" gasped Ian.

Taylor shook her head. "He was a stepfather to Faraday." She looked at Willie, who was leaning against the counter. He hadn't said anything at all, and from the looks of things, he wasn't going to. The door to the outside opened and Rosemary came in. Toot wasn't with her and she looked past Willie, who gazed at her for a moment then left the room. Confused, Taylor excused herself and followed him into the far sun room away from everyone.

"Willie, what is going on? What happened? Who hit you?"

"Rosemary did."

"Why?"

"Because I caught Toot on the box banging her in the shed and let her know it wasn't

proper behavior for a woman her age."

"Banging on the box?" she asked, and saw his face redden.

"Yes, like a brasser, an old flah-bag a - a common tart," he said with great difficulty. "I ask you now, what woman of reason would do that with the town drunken Brell who's known for sleeping with his goats, and that's _WITH_ his goats?" He paced the room a few times and then looked out the window at the people coming up the path to the bed and breakfast.

"I don't have the answer to that, husband. I know she isn't responsible for Faraday's death."

"That has nothing to do with it!" he said darkly.

"Fine, then I will leave it to you to tell Mither about Faraday, and Flynn," she said, getting up and walking briskly from the room out the side door, where she avoided Mither and the others coming back into the house. Starting down the path, she wanted to put as much distance between what she wanted to say, and what was in her heart. She felt something, though, and had to stop. She stood for a moment taking a breath under the tree that she and Willie had spoken under before they had married. She couldn't go any further. She sat on the same spot and lowered her head. She could feel the tears coming down her cheeks. She heard the crunch of gravel coming down the path and felt Willie sit beside her before wrapping his arms about her body. She turned into his arms and her body shook with sobs.

"I can't be strong any more, I can't," she said softly. "I don't have the answer for you, husband. I don't know how to fix the hurt in your heart any more than I can fix what is in mine. I'm sorry."

Tilting her head up with his fingertips, Willie gazed at Taylor's tear-streaked face. "Wife, when ye were walking away from me, where were you going that ye thought would be a better place than my company?"

"The church, to draw the windows… I've always used drawing to focus on when I couldn't deal with the world. I have for so very long I am afraid that I don't know how to cope any other way. I used to be very good with people, dealing with problems … and it changed one day. Gabe came into my life and I … I couldn't fix me, though. Only you have been able to do that. And I know there are people here who are in more pain than I am. I can't take on any more pain."

"I know, wife," Willie said softly, brushing the tears from her cheeks. "I'm sorry for putting you in the middle of something that wasn't yours to worry about."

"You are my husband. She is my mother now, too, and would you be angry with me if I said, it is her decision to make?"

He regarded her. "She said as much. Aye, I was angry when I found them. Angry enough tha' if I had the sword I would have done him more harm than kicking his back side as I did… Na because Frank an' his Mum saw what was going on in the shed, but I knew my da loved my mum more than his own soul. I just felt she was dishonoring his memory or tha' she was lowering herself to be in Toot's company. I've lost her as my mother today…"

"Then you will have to find her again. Husband, you can not ask her to make the choice between your love and her comfort where she may find it." She saw that Willie was about to say something and she laid her fingertips over his lips. "There has been enough pain today, husband…" She stood up and took his hand. "Come on. We need to help Mither ease hers, and put ours aside for a while."

Willie stood and escorted her up to the bed and breakfast where they found Mither had just taken the things from the market and was unpacking them in the cellar. Willie went down and brought her up to the sitting room, and holding her hand told her gently about Faraday, and how his life had been taken.

Mither's voice was low. "I heard the calling, afore ye came. The low moan of the ones who take the souls of the gentle away. Knew there would be harm coming, but didn't know for whom. Ye bring death, Willie, with ye. Ye bring death."

Taylor stood beside Mither. "It was here all along, Mither. Long before Willie went away, even before he was born, it was here. It's ending, though, and that which was silent will be spoken. Mither, Faraday mentioned, Myrna. She's gone too…"

Mither shook her head. "Oh no… She's just away at University…She…is just away…"

In the kitchen Frank, Ian, Grady and Donna were helping the boys peel the potatoes. Rosemary was by the sink washing the greens when she heard a scream come from the sitting room, one that was much like a wounded animal's. She turned, startled at the scream, and the wail that followed.

Frank saw her confused expression. "Faraday is dead," he said softly.

"Child, don't say such things!" said Rosemary sharply. She looked at Donna, who wore such a look of sadness that she hadn't noticed before. She put aside her apron and hurried up to the room where she stepped in and saw Willie holding Mither as she sobbed.

Taylor was standing near the door and saw Rosemary hesitate when she saw Willie in with Mither. Taylor turned and walked over to Rosemary and gave her a hug, whispering in her ear, "We want you to be happy in your life, Mother Rosemary … The family has lost another to Fordham."

"The family?" gasped Rosemary.

"Mither is the hidden sister to Willie's father. She's lost both her children today. I could not bear to learn of any more partings of the heart… You need to know, Flynn shot him …"

She was interrupted by a terrified scream that echoed through the walls and registers of the bed and breakfast. Taylor met Rosemary's gaze.

"Go daughter, I will help my son."

Taylor kissed Rosemary's cheek and hurried up the steps to where she knew Tipper was having the worst day of her life.

"_Faraday… please, don't give up… Please… don't give up…" she said, holding him closer as Willie bunched a handkerchief under her hand to help with the pressure. He looked up at her and made a small shake of his head. _

"_Faraday… Would you like to hang your wash next to mine?" asked Tipper urgently. _

_She saw him focus on her. "Aye…" _

_Tipper found her world swirled around her. She looked up from his body and saw the stained glass window. She found herself holding the sword by the hilt, and stabbing it downward until it struck the earth. Blood bubbled from the tip of the sword and she saw that it was Faraday she had stabbed as his eyes opened, looking at her. But it wasn't Faraday that lay beneath the sword, it was a younger man with dark eyes who laughed as she fell backwards onto the steps away from the white marble post. _

_The younger man stood up, the sword still in his chest. "Vengeance comes..."_

Tipper sat up in bed and screamed, struggling against the arms that held her. Pain filled her eyes as the sunlight came unbridled through the window. She heard voices, and turned her head away from the bitter liquid that was pressed to her lips. "NO," she said, pushing it away.

"Let me try," she heard. She knew that voice, from a darkness. The hands that held her went away. The owner of the voice picked up her hand and held it, tracing his thumb across the back of it.

"Angela… it's ok… you don't have to drink it if you don't want to, but it will help the nightmares stop and you can sleep then… or we can talk about it…"

The bright lights went away as the shade was pulled down. Tipper managed to open her eyes and saw Frank sitting on her bedside. Donna was sitting on another bed, Grady standing beside her. Taylor sat on the other side of her bed, holding the cup that held the bitter liquid.

"It's my fault Faraday is dead," she said, her voice empty of emotion. Willie had told her no. Flynn had pulled the trigger and killed him.

Frank looked at her. "I know. If you had known he was going to die, you wouldn't have led him to where Flynn was. But you had no way of knowing what was going to happen. Gabe says the actions of others are free will… I know he loved you too, and that it hurts inside when you think about him. It's okay to feel that hurt, and to cry for as long as it takes, and you don't need stuff to make the hurt go away if you know that it will. You aren't alone Angela, I'm here…" he said, brushing her cheek with his fingertip gently.

Donna watched as Frank sat on Tipper's bed and spoke softly to her. The affection that Frank held for her was visible in his features and in his actions.

"Maybe you had this dream because there is something you need to remember?" he asked her as he helped her lay back down on the bed and smoothed her hair from her face.

He saw her eyes grow heavy as she murmured, "Maybe …"

Frank bent over and kissed her cheek softly as he tucked her in. By the rise and fall of her chest they knew she was sleeping. "I love you, Angela," he murmured softly to her.

Donna looked at Grady as he put an arm around Frank's shoulder. "Come on, Frank, let's let Tipper get some rest while we talk outside."

Frank looked at his dad then back at Tipper as she slept. He was reluctant to leave her, but he knew she wasn't alone with Willie being there in the house. If anything would happen, if she would wake up again, they would hear it downstairs. He followed his father outside and down the path away to where there was a bench under a grove of trees. For a bit, they just sat there in silence.

"What did you want to talk about?" Frank asked curiously as he watched Seth walking along the back road with Gram. Something odd had happened at Taylor's wedding with Gram. The shell she had built around herself opened under the company of Seth, and now they were spending long hours speaking about herbs and healing. The cameraman was struggling to keep up with them. He could see Gram saying things that were shocking the young man properly.

When Frank didn't get an answer right away he looked back at his father and saw he was struggling with something. "Dad?"

Grady took a breath, Donna's words ringing in his ears. She had pulled him back when Frank ran up the steps to the sound of Tipper's screams. "You have to have a talk with him, Grady, before he starts asking questions. He knows Rosemary and Toot were in a … a moment best not described. He needs to have a talk about _things."_

"Me? But couldn't …Seth, or Willie … I mean, they're doctors and they could do a much better job at explaining, um, if he had questions … about - about_ things_…"

"You're his father."

Grady let the breath out slowly and swallowed. "Your mother thought it would be a good idea if I had a talk with you about _things_."

"What things?"

Grady looked at his son's innocent upturned face. He took another breath. "Well, we have noticed that in the time that we left you in Aunt Jessica's care, you've changed some. You're growing up a lot, faster than we expected," he began. "And your mother felt it was time that we had a discussion about your growing up."

Frank watched his father shift on the bench and was aware that his dad was uncomfortable about something. He reached over and took his dad's hand.

"You know, you can talk to me about anything you need to, dad," he said reassuringly.

Sighing, Grady regarded his son. "I know. The thing is, we've noticed that you're growing up, and your mother feels it's time we discuss with you the things that happen when you do."

Frank blinked. It wasn't good when his dad repeated himself. He didn't have a clue as to what 'things' he was referring to. "Like, being responsible for what you do?" asked Frank. "I'm getting better at that… and I know what being disappointed is…"

Grady closed his eyes and then took another breath. "That's part of it, but it's the physical part of growing up that we need to talk about - you will get taller, and your voice will change … Well, maybe. Some people's voices get deeper. I don't know if mine ever did."

Frank regarded his dad with a puzzled expression. "Like the beard you tried to grow last year?"

He saw his father's adam's apple bob up and down a few times. Whatever this was it was very difficult for his father to say. In a perverse way, Frank almost wanted to draw out the moment to make his father as uncomfortable about - what ever they were talking about as possible. He couldn't imagine what was making Grady so nervous.

"Well, yes," (taking a deep breath) "and you will start to have feelings for girls and want to do things with them, like kissing them." His father said it in such a rush that Frank knew there had to be more to what he meant, but from the particular color on Grady's face he didn't think now was the time to push it. He did have an honest question, though, that he needed to ask. It was more of a question regarding acceptance.

"Dad. What if I have feelings for guys?"

Grady shrugged. "Then you have feelings for them. And it doesn't change how much your mother and I love you. The point is you have to be responsible though for what you do with those feelings."

"Is this about earlier today or something else, Dad?"

Frank saw his father blink a few times then remove his glasses. He folded his glasses and put them in his pocket. For a moment he didn't say anything. Grady sighed. Frank noticed that his father's mood had changed from being nervous to being very somber.

"Frank, you, need to know something. When I told you that your mother was having tests done, there were a few that were good, and some that were not so good. She - we're going to have another child, but the baby isn't doing well. There are medical names for it, but it all breaks down to failure to thrive for the infant. The baby is alive, but it just isn't growing right… even if we go all the way through the nine months, to term, and the baby is born… the doctors don't know if it could survive the birth, and most of them that are born that way have tremendous medical problems. Your mother and I didn't think we could have any more children because of our age, but you were so delicious growing up, we had to keep trying. When we had you, she was huge … even at six months along. She hasn't gained more than five pounds during the entire pregnancy, and the last test showed the baby weighed less than a quarter of a pound." Grady stopped and closed his eyes. Frank could see tears under his dad's lashes.

"I didn't make things easier for mum and you, did I?" Frank said sadly.

Grady looked at Frank "Oh, Frank. No. Nothing that was done or said was the reason for this. It happens. We just need to decide what to do from here. One of the doctors that we went to suggested terminating the pregnancy, and another said there is a chance that everything could be fine, with time… They said that there wasn't anything that we could do or not do that would make a difference. We didn't know when we started out that your mother was going to have a baby - we were already in France when we found out, and coming over here wasn't going to make any difference … not for a while."

"What did Willie say? He made Taylor better. He can make mum and the baby better. I think I would like a little sister, by the way. I know they can be a bit of a pain from what Ian says, but his little sisters are pretty cute as kids go… Dad?"

"Yes, Frank?"

"What was happening in the shed - whatever it was - that's what ... that's how ... And mum's worried that I might…" Frank screwed up his face a bit as he frowned. He saw his dad take a breath.

"Uh, yes…" said Grady, a bit uncomfortable with what might be asked next.

"Dad… you really don't need to worry about that with me. I love Angela and all, but it's going to be years and years before I am old enough to get married to her. If I even thought to do something like - well, whatever - she would probably use her tranq gun on me or something until I came to my senses. And she might find someone else in the meantime but that's ok. We will still be friends. Now, what did Willie say about Mum?"

Grady closed his eyes. Tears came down his cheeks as he said softly, "Willie was the most honest about the baby's chances of survival, and what we are up against."

Frank planted both of his hands on Grady's chest. "Dad, don't give up on my baby sister. Please?"

Wrapping his arms around his son, Grady pulled him close and gave him a hug. "We won't ever give up," he said to Frank. For a while the two of them clung to each other before Grady pulled back.

"Dad, you know what this means, don't you?"

"Um… refresh my memory… it's been a long day…"

"We have to move. Not that I mind sharing my room with my little sister for a while, but by the time I am ready to start dating, she will be into kindergarten and I just wouldn't feel comfortable with her using my love letters to color on. I know you and mum planned on moving to Brooklyn maybe in a few years, but, Cabot Cove is a much nicer place to raise a family, and Aunt Jessica will be there to help watch both of us when you an mum need a night on the town - not that in Cabot Cove that lasts much longer than 8 pm, but still… And Willie and Taylor live next door to Aunt Jessica, so Willie can help make my little sister better…maybe even make mum well enough later so we could have a little brother to pick on when she grows up a bit. 'Sides, I was such a handful, is there any hope of handling me AND a too-cute-for-words little sister of mine?"

Frank saw Grady look down to the ground quickly. "So, there's something else I should know," Frank said, studying his father. "I know that look."

"With your mother being, ill, I've let the company know - well, I finished the contract and they are happy with it, but your mother and I were on our way home to settle things when the word about the wedding came to us from Aunt Jessica. I've given notice regarding my job to be with your mother. There won't be any money for a house, and what money there is will be taken by medical bills. We were going to put the things we have in storage and stay with your grandmother and grandfather Mayberry, but we didn't want to have you worry over the summer. It will probably be the last vacation that we will be able to have for a while. It doesn't look good for a CPA to go bankrupt."

"Honest ones do. Things will work out, dad. Have faith… if it's all the same to you, dad, Cabot Cove is a much better place to raise kids than where Grandma and Grandpa Mayberry are."

"It's not just about having a place to stay, Frank. I know Aunt Jessica would take us in, and she does have two guest rooms, but, well, your mom feels better going to her parents' place."

Frank looked at his dad. "Dad, don't worry about me. Okay? I won't be causing them any grief, like I did before."

Grady's eyebrows went up.

"Grief?" He gave Frank an unexpected grin. "Oh, Frank… Please don't change with how you act around them. Promise me that?"

"Dad…" Frank said, faintly scandalized. "You want me to give them more gray hairs?"

"Maybe, it keeps them young," he said, gathering his son in his arms.

Grady held his son as he watched the constable's car pull down the lane to a house not far from where Mither's was. The constable looked at a clipboard then went to the house and knocked on the door. While they couldn't hear what was being said, it was clear by the cry of pain from the woman, how she fell to her knees and wept, what had happened. It brought the neighbors out, and the constable was surrounded by people who listened to him as he read off from the list.

"Dad?"

"Yes, son?"

"How come we got out alive, just to lose Faraday?"

Grady took a breath, and kissed his son's head. "I don't know, Frank. None of us know when we are called back home. None of us know the reasons why we're here. Your mother and I have never regretted having you for a single moment."

Lunch and dinner seemed to merge that day. Emma took over in the kitchen busying herself with making the soup and gallons of hot tea that Gram had provided and instructed the kids to go about the house making sure every one had one to bring them comfort.

It didn't surprise Willie when Taylor got up, gathered a few pencils, and quietly walked out of the room. He went to the window and watched as she made it down the path to the doors of the church, then up the steps and inside the building.

It was empty now, but the doors were open. Walking in she saw that they had taken boards and covered up where the windows had been broken. She saw there was a four-by-eight sheet of plywood along the wall that hadn't been used. Taking a breath she dragged it to the back of the church and laid it down. She pulled the pencil out of her pocket and sitting on the board she began to draw. Taylor didn't look up when footsteps approached her from the front of the church. She was lying on the board at this point, stretched out and just moving her hand as she worked in the details of what she was drawing.

"Hello… Can I help you? I say, that's rather lovely," she heard a voice say behind her. The footsteps moved around to the front of where she was drawing. She saw black shoes and black pants. The person crouched down and regarded her. He offered her his hand. "I'm Father Brian. I'm rather new here, just came in today - taking over for Father Julian Dania. He left rather suddenly yesterday to go on a sabbatical."

"Do you believe in ghosts, Father Brian?" she asked softly. She watched him sit on the tile floor as if he had been pushed onto his backside by an invisible hand. He placed his hand down on the floor to support himself, then cleared his throat.

"Well, the Catholic Church is far more into mysticism than most people would think. There are things we can't explain that by the grace of God we accept, in faith," he said, righting himself and removing his dark taupe outer jacket, placing it on the bench back.

"You deserve to know the truth then. Many years ago, a man was involved in the Phoenix Park murders. He told people to do it and provided them with surgical knives stolen from his son's father-in-law. A short time later his son was arrested for being involved with the group responsible, but the son was in truth responsible for blackmailing the wife of one of the people killed. His daughter-in-law lost two sisters, her unborn child, and her life, and her father took his remaining child away to settle here, in this town. The man responsible for the murders swore revenge upon the family, and for several generations his family has done just that.

"One would think that a family steeped in such monstrous behavior would be noticed rather quickly, but from the townspeople's point of view, the family members were the pillars of the community, donating money to the church in large sums, providing scholarships for the children of the village, putting a medical research wing on the hospital. The villagers didn't notice that the children weren't coming back from the university. They would get letters, but after a while the letters would stop. It was thought that the children, once educated, had found their way in the world, and left everything behind to start a new life. One mother did question why her daughter hadn't written. She made inquiries to the university and learned that they had no record of her daughter being there, or ever being accepted. The police recovered her body yesterday. Thirty others died in the bowels of the man's home where three young people managed to escape with their lives, and bring proof of the treachery to light. The police managed to catch the person helping him today, but at the cost of another person's life.

"Father Brian, the constable came awhile ago to each family to regretfully inform them of the discovery of their child's death. It will fall to you to comfort them, and to bury their children." She sat up and looked at him. "You need to know that Father Dania knew what was going on, and accepted funds from this man to look the other way."

Taylor watched Father Brian's expression turn from curious to shock. She pushed herself up and sat up, regarding him. "He married a man and woman when he was at another parish. He was transferred here, and months later, when the young woman came here to give birth, she left her son with his grandmother. Father Dania began the rumors that this child was from an unwed mother, and should be treated accordingly. That man is now my husband, and of the family from whom the surgical knives were stolen, who lost their daughters and unborn grandchild and who vengeance had been sworn against." She leaned forward and handed him the pencil stub, closing her hand around his and the pencil. "It is by your hands to rebuild the faith in God within this community."

Father Brian looked down at the drawing she had done on the board. It was a series of windows, each building on the other. He looked back at her and nodded. "I heard the crying… I am rather new at this, and I didn't know if I should intrude, or if they would come to me for comfort and guidance during this time of need. They wouldn't even tell me what happened to Father Jordan, why he had to go…"

"He was shown the truth."

"How?"

Taylor took a slow breath and let it out, then put her pencil down. "I asked for help. He spoke in a lightning bolt that struck the oak that sits above the graves of the Furhdaham family. The branches that fell only shattered the windows that held the Furhdaham family crest."

Father Brian goggled at her. "You called lightning down from the heavens? A bolt from the blue, as they say… "

She looked at him. "I can only replace what should have been placed in the church in the first place. I do not ask any favors, from this parish or you, except to search for the truth and follow faith of the heavens, not the will of man."

The office phone rang, sending a signal over to the church as a chirping sound that prompted Father Brian to stand up and excuse himself to answer it. She didn't move when she heard the soft footsteps from the dark shadows near the side entrance and steps to the loft. "No, Gabe," she said with out turning.

"Did I say you were?" his voice asked gently.

"I'm not hiding. I am working. It's important."

Gabe walked over to her and knelt down beside her. "Rebuilding lives is always important in whichever way is chosen." He held out his hand to her and helped her stand up. "I need your help," he said escorting her out of the church to where a hitched wagon was that had boxes and wrapped pipes that were 6 feet long. "For the windows. It will help get things started."

"Thank you," Taylor said, wrapping her arms about his neck and giving him a gentle hug.

Together they carried in the glass sheets and the lead c channel and framing for the windows.

Gabe stayed long enough to help set up a small work area for her to be comfortable in, and then kissed her forehead and said he had some errands to do before he left.

Toot wandered in a short time later and sat watching her work. He didn't comment on what she was doing, nor did he offer assistance. When the mid-day came he had said to her, "You don't have to do this, you know."

She paused in her work and regarded him. His green eyes twinkled in the sunlight and there was a look of sadness upon his face. "I know."

He scuffed the floor with his foot. "I have na regrets about this morning. I always ha loved her though we couldn't be together. We didna think that with all of them away welcoming tha' new one, tha' there would be any one about."

"I do not condemn you if you love her with your heart. "

Toot regarded her in silence. "Does Thaladirith?" he asked softly.

Taylor placed the glass cutter down on the makeshift table and scratched the bottom of her palm. She could see something was distressing Toot, and it was more than just being discovered.

"Mother Rosemary is old enough to seek comfort where she wills. He has come to terms with that. Understand though, he loves his mother, and if she should come to distress by you, I would not be able to stay his hand."

Toot looked away for a moment then turned back to her. "Aye, lass, I know. I would do no less for my own mother," he said before walking out of the church.

_Flynn didn't say anything for a moment. "There are no innocent people, Mrs. Fletcher," he said, his voice becoming hard. _

_The door opened behind Flynn and Tipper and Faraday came through it. Faraday was a bit surprised to see the gun. "You said no one was to get hurt," he said. _

"_I said 'no one important,'" Flynn replied, swinging the gun point blank in Tipper's direction. _

"_NO!" Tipper felt herself being spun around and then jolted backwards as she and Faraday fell to the floor. Tipper heard a scream, and felt a heavy wetness spread through the material of her top. She struggled a bit, unable to move and realized someone was on top of her. In a rush the weight lifted off. Some one helped her sit up. Tipper looked around and saw that it was Jessica, and that George had gently rolled Faraday off of her. She pushed George away. Bright blood bubbled from just under Faraday's right arm. His eyes were wide and a trace of blood trickled down from his mouth. Tipper placed her hand over the gasping wound. From the sound of the air issuing from the hole she knew he had a punctured lung, and the amount of blood coming past her fingers told her there was more damage within. _

"_I'm sorry," Faraday managed to say with great effort. Tipper put her arm under his head and raised his body, allowing his shattered lungs to work a bit better._

"_WILLIE!" Tipper yelled, then looked down at Faraday as she cradled him in her arms, desperately trying to stop his life blood from leaving his body. She knew that Willie was close - they had been a few rooms over when Faraday had heard Flynn's voice speaking with Jessica. Curious, she had taken Faradays hand and led him down the hall to the back entrance of the study. She knew George was in the front speaking to one of the officers who had come at his request. They hadn't been sure exactly what or whom they would find. _

_Willie came through the door and glanced at Flynn. George's bullet had taken care of keeping him where he could do no further harm. He hurried over to where Tipper held Faraday, and saw blood on his left arm. Ripping open the shirt, he saw bruising on the left side of his body. _

"_Faraday … please, don't give up … Please … don't give up …" Tipper said, holding him closer as Willie bunched a handkerchief under her hand to help with the pressure. He looked up at her and made a small shake of his head. _

"_Faraday - would you like to hang your wash next to mine?" asked Tipper urgently. _

_She saw him focus on her. "Aye ..."_

_Bending down she kissed his lips gently. When she straightened up Tipper saw Faraday blink and look beyond her. "Myrna…" he said softly. _

_Turning her head she looked in the direction that he was. She saw a young girl who looked a lot like Mither standing next to a young man she didn't recognize. She felt Faraday take a breath, then it rustled out of his body. Tipper looked back, and saw him standing next to the young woman, hugging her. For a moment their eyes met, and then he walked out the door with the young woman between him and the other man. _

_Jessica watched as the police hauled Flynn to his feet and escorted him handcuffed out of the room. Taylor went to Tipper and held her as she sobbed over Faraday. The village would be unprepared for the amount of tragedy that it would soon face. _

_Taylor looked at Jessica. "He was kin to Willie … Myrna was his twin. From Mither's first marriage. There is a photo in the room of her holding Faraday, and someone else holding Myrna on the porch … Gram." _

Tipper sat up. She didn't scream, but her breath came in ragged gasps. The dream she had just had was very intense and it took a bit for it to fade. For a moment she heard voices downstairs and looked about a bit groggy. It was only late afternoon by the clock on the nightstand - what was she doing in bed? Darn jetlag. She couldn't find her shoes. She didn't remember where she had taken them off. Swinging her feet over, she placed her feet on the bare wood floor and curled her toes until she was used to it. She stood up, and walked across to the closed door. She felt as if she was drunk. Holding onto the wall she closed her eyes and took a few breaths before continuing downstairs to where the others were sitting in small groups. A few heads turned as she wobbled into the room. She nodded back to them, not really recognizing anyone that she knew - she knew they were MacGills, and it was easier to nod and say 'Hello Mr. and Mrs. MacGill' than to remember their names.

Tipper followed the sound of the voices to the kitchen. She recognized Gram and Mither, who were speaking with Willie. Going into the kitchen she saw someone lying on the table with a sheet over their legs, and Mither holding up an arm as it she washed it. Gram was brewing something in a large pot, and Willie was saying something in Gaelic that she didn't understand. Tipper walked forward and saw that it was Faraday on the table, that he was being washed, and something - a cloth that had words written in Gaelic on it - was laid aside.

Tipper walked to the table, reached out and touched Faraday's lips with her fingertips and felt that they were cold. Her fingers traced down his throat to his chest where her hand stayed. She looked up at Mither. "He saved my life." She blinked a few times, then, just as carefully that she had come in, she walked out. Seth met her at the door and escorted her to where Donna and Grady were in the sitting room.

Frank came into the room. Ian and he had been putting the younger ones in for an afternoon nap, and had decided to stay with his sisters awhile. He walked over to where his mother was. "You need to be resting, Mum," he said, guiding her to the sofa and kissing her forehead as he tucked a coverlet over her. "It's going to be a long day." He looked at Tipper. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. "I'm fine… I just feel like I have slept a bit too much and I'm a bit groggy, but that's all. Did they have dinner yet?"

Frank went over to the china set, poured Tipper a cup of tea and carried it to her. "The kitchen is a bit busy right now, but pretty soon we can get you some soup, and Mither made homemade bread earlier to go with it. They have to move Faraday to the front parlor for the wake."

"The wake?" Tipper looked puzzled for a moment.

"It's what they do. It goes on for three days and then they have the burial. Someone will be with him at all times… usually the men folk. They are going to put both Faraday and his sister in the same place," Frank said softly. He watched as Tipper listened to him, but she seemed distracted by something. Willie had said she might act a bit odd, but he almost preferred the crying, because sadness was something he could understand.

No sooner than Jessica and George managed to get the young child washed, George wrinkled his nose and noticed that she had soiled herself. Sighing, he drained the tub and filled it again for another bath. It had taken several baths to scrub off all of the dirt and grime and beneath it they had found a little girl of almost four with dark brown hair and blue eyes that George knew lads would get lost in.

"So, where did you come from, Princess?" Jessica asked gently to the little girl once she was cleaned and then taken downstairs to where the kitchen was. Officer O'Neil managed to find some peanut butter that he placed on bread and some apple juice for her. She hadn't spoken; her language was moans and squeaks of surprise and sometimes a yell if things didn't go her way. The bath had terrified her at first until she realized it wasn't going to hurt her.

After her belly was full she rubbed her eyes. Jessica brought a blanket and wrapped it about her shoulders as she said to George, "We should be getting back to the bed and breakfast with Princess."

"Jessica, one can not just simply leave with a child under one's arm if the parentage is not known in a situation like this. For all we know this child's parents may be looking for her…"

"George, there isn't any way that the hospital staff would have a clue as to what is to be done with this child. There are two doctors on the premises at Mither's, and from what I understand Willie did do pediatric work, and has had experience with victims of crimes…against women."

George saw how difficult it was for Jessica to say such a thing. He took a breath. "If that old goat has laid a finger on this child I will personally draw and quarter his scrawny carcass."

George saw Jessica regard the child as she looked around for something else to eat. "He wouldn't have to, George… he has already done far more harm to this child by keeping her isolated in that room than anything else he could have done. Let's get Princess back to the bed and breakfast and go from there."

"Jess, they have already released Faraday to his mother. Don't you think that there is enough going on there? Surely the people at the hospital youth services could manage with her…"

"I'm surprised at you, George - I would have thought you were the type that likes children!"

"From a distance, and as long as they stay that far away, I am fine…" It was with some alarm that he discovered when he turned the child stuffed several fingers of hers that had peanut butter on them into his mouth. He heard Officer O'Neil snicker as he wiped it off of his mouth and walked to the door. "As you wish," he said, eyeing the child for any other sudden movements.

It took a while to get things settled at the bed and breakfast. Willie realized Taylor had not returned from the church and going down after her, found her working with Gabe, who had returned with more stained glass and tools to lift the large windows into place. She didn't say anything, and from the amount of work that had been done he knew she had been working steadily at it. One window had been replaced and several had a fair start on them. Light streamed through the window as the sun set . Willie sat in the back of the church, regarding it. There were things to do, but right now gazing at the window was important.

Taylor knew the town was going to bury their dead in the cemetery, all except for Faraday. Willie had said Mither wouldn't allow it, and that there was a family plot where he would find his rest next to his father and his sister, whose bones had been discovered in the bowels of the estate.

She bid Father Brian goodnight and they walked arm and arm up the hill to where the bed and breakfast was.

"Are ye hungry, Wife? There is soup, and bread that was made earlier…"

Taylor shook her head. "Maybe later…"

The first viewing of Faraday was for the family and close neighbors. It had been painful. Toot had helped carry Faraday to the front parlor and then stood by his head ruffling Faradays hair into place. Walking over to Mither he held her in his arms, and Taylor saw there were tears in his eyes that traced down his cheek. He held her for a while then kissed both of her cheeks before stepping off to the kitchen. Taylor smelt something coming from that direction before Toot returned to the room with a jug of something that she saw Willie raise his eyebrows at. Toot came with a glass for Mither and poured her off some, then passed the jug to Gram, who lifted it up and took a swallow from it before passing it off to Willie. For a moment he regarded the jug, then he lifted it to his own lips and took a drink from it, and passed it to Taylor. There were tears in her eyes as she lowered the jug and passed it to Rosemary.

The door opened and Jessica came in with George, who carried the little girl now asleep on his shoulder. Jessica had a quiet word with Seth and Willie, who went upstairs with them to one of the bedrooms. It was a bit later that they came down. Willie didn't say anything to Taylor about what had gone on, or who the child was. He just stood beside her holding her hand as the people came to give their respects to Mither, keeping an eye on Toot who was beside Rosemary the whole evening.

Night came. The family went up to their beds and Taylor followed Willie out of the parlor where Faraday lay to the sitting room, where flung himself into the oversized chair. She could see the exhaustion on his face. Tipper's dreams had happened several times throughout the day when she was resting even with the sleeping draught he had made for her. Tipper wasn't herself. It was if as a wall had formed between her and the events, so that each time that she woke from her brief naps she was more and more distant to the people around her.

Willie held out his hand to Taylor and guided her into the chair beside him. "Wife, where did you learn to make stained glass windows?"

She shrugged as she pulled the quilt over both of them and settled it over their bodies to keep the chill out. "I didn't ever really learn. I knew how to draw, and it's just like cutting out pieces of paper to make a mosaic design. The rest just came together… Much to the delight of the church elders. I rather like the new parish priest that has taken over the spiritual needs of this community."

"Oh, ye rather like the Englishman, Fr. Brian, who wants to be a proper Irish priest, do ye? Wife, if he stepped his head in a hornets nest he would be believing that as God's creatures they woudna harm him as he is of the cloth an' one of their brothers."

"Is it because he has said for the town to forgive Fordham and his family without mentioning the harm he has done to ours, husband? Or to have the church say, 'I'm sorry for the wrong that has befallen you because the last priest was in favor with the wrong family'?"

Willie didn't say anything for a while. Finally he said, softly, "I don't know if it is that, or his faith that may be foolhardiness that troubles me the most. " He looked at her and studied her face in the dim moonlight. She snuggled next to him closer and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Wife?"

"Yes, husband?"

"How do ye do it?"

She lifted her head up and looked at him. "Do what, husband?"

"The lightning, when ye was telling the story, and the lightning in the graveyard - how did ye do that?"

"Oh… that," she said as her finger traced down his chest gently. She lowered her head and kissed his lips. Her lips moved to rake across his cheek until they stopped at his ear.

"Faith," she whispered to him softly before her lips began to kiss down his throat.

"_You know a lot about this place" Tipper said softly as Faraday led her past the grand carved white marble staircase. He paused for a moment as she had caught sight of the large stained glass windows that ran the length of the outside walls. They were so huge that she couldn't take everything in, and was distracted by her study of them when Faraday turned her back to him. _

"_Aye. Well, most people do. For awhile they would give tours to school children and he would give sweets out to the ones who knew the most. Books have been written about this place and the way it was built. There are several in the library, as well as the stories about the hidden treasures that the halls will only give up to the rightful heir." _

_There was a sound further down the hall, people talking - it was indistinct. Tipper was distracted for a moment as she tried to figure out what was being said. She heard something else too, something coming from upstairs, almost a moaning animal cry_.

"_Just the wind over the chimneys, tha's all," he said to Tipper, drawing her attention back to him._

_Tipper saw a look of wistfulness in his eyes. "What would you want to do with the treasure?" she asked him, curious. _

_He stepped forward with a look in his eye. Instinctively Tipper stepped backwards until her body was against the thick post that supported the rail of the grand staircase. She stepped to the side and went up a step. He took a side step so that she was trapped against the pillar. Her hand went backwards to the top of the pillar and she felt the split in the stone as the palm of her hand pressed down. _

"_You are the only treasure that I would want in my life, Tipper…" He took a step to her. _

_Reaching up she placed her hand on his chest and felt the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. "It's Angela," she said shyly. _

_She saw a struggle on his face, as if he was going to say something to her. "You are so beautiful, Angela…" he said at last. "I would do anything if it would please you."_

"_Faraday?"_

"_Yes, lass?_

"_Kiss me?" _

_She saw Faraday take a breath and realized he was nervous She lifted her arms up and placed them over his shoulders and stepped into his arms as their lips met._

_There was only the sound of her heart beat rushing in her ears as she felt a giddiness in her entire body. She could breathe. She could talk, and she could think. It was delightful. In the moment that they kissed Tipper had never been more happy. It had to be madness, she thought, to meet someone and fall for them so absolutely within such a short period of time. _

_There was a crash of something - Faraday stepped back and looked over his shoulder. She saw - something - in his eyes. She couldn't tell what. She started to the source of the sound - and realized Faraday was telling her no, not to go that way, but the closer she got, she was able to make out Jessica's voice speaking to someone else… _

Tipper sat up in bed and looked around. For a moment she didn't move until her eyes became used to the dim light from the moon. She saw Donna sleeping in the other bed, as well as Jessica on the far side of the room. Looking out the window over the village she shook her head trying to clear it, and then saw the untouched cup that held the draught that was to help her sleep.

She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and felt something. Glancing over the edge, she saw that Frank had curled up with a pillow and a blanket on the rug beside her bed. Her foot upon him woke him up. He lifted his head and saw she was awake. In a single move he was off of the floor and beside her, hugging her tightly. Tipper was a bit overwhelmed by his move and for a moment she let him hug her until he pulled away.

"Are you hungry?" he asked softly. "I can go down to the kitchen and get you some juice or something."

"Let's both go down," she answered, whispering to him . She still felt a bit dizzy, and knew that if she fell it might be a long time before some one would find her. She knew that there would be no way that he would let her manage to go down on her own. Not in the middle of the night. He nodded, then handed her her bathrobe and slippers and shoved his feet into his own. Carefully they both made their way down the steps to the kitchen where Tipper looked around. The only thing that she could think of that would settle well was tea. She lifted the copper tea kettle off of the side board and filled it with cold water before placing it on the stove and lighting the fire under it. For a second she stood looking at it. It reminded her of the old fashioned tea kettles that one would find in the antique shops. Her grandmother had one - she never used it, rather she put it on the coffee table for decoration. She never asked her why. With her eyes Tipper followed the simple elegance of the metal handle upward and around back to the base. Funny, how people go to the stores and by new things that remind them of the old things. Looking about the kitchen though, with the hand woven pot holders, it was the only type of tea kettle that really fit.

She heard Frank say behind her, "They have another cat that is going to have kittens down at the barn. She's huge around the middle, and Patricia says that there is a mare who has twin foals there too. Their tails spin like propellers when they are eating. …" he said softly to keep the silence from becoming unbearable.

The tea kettle began to whistle. Without thinking Tipper turned off the fire then went to pick up the handle and dropped the hot kettle. Water splashed everywhere.

"DAMN IT!" she cried out before shoving the tea cup aside and holding her hand, tears coming down from the pain. She wasn't even aware of someone guiding her to the sink and running cold water over her hand. She smelt potato whiskey and goats and felt the rough stubble of a beard and the wetness on his cheeks from his own tears as strong arms held her.

"Easy, lass…" she heard as the icy water splashed over the blisters. She felt her knees become weak, yet she knew that she would not sink to the floor, not with this person holding her up. Something was pushed into her other hand. "Hold on to this and don't look, lass," she heard as the cold water was turned off. Tipper wanted to scream as the pain from the burn shot through her arm. She saw bright flashes of light as pressure was placed upon her hand. Her knees did buckle then.

When she opened her eyes she saw Frank looking at her with worry on his face. She was in a chair that had been pushed against the counter and sitting sideways so that she was not in any danger of falling out of the chair. She looked down at her hand and saw that it was wrapped with a handkerchief, and she could feel something else under it, but the pain was gone. In her other hand was a smooth stone and she knew that if she let go of it that her hand would start hurting again.

Frank held up a glass of juice to her lips. "Drink this," he said, letting her take a few sips. He put the glass down, and in the night light that illuminated the kitchen she saw he had some crackers and cheese. He was very careful of how he helped her eat. She wasn't letting go of the stone, she was not able to pick up anything with her wrapped hand.

She looked at the kettle and realized it _was_ just like her grandmothers tea kettle, and the reason why people didn't use them was the handle got hotter than the water it was boiling. She closed her eyes, weary. It had been a long day, and she felt groggy again, as if there was cotton wool wrapped around her.

"Frank… can you help me back up stairs?" she asked softly.

Frank nodded. He made sure that the fire was out and that the gas was turned off before putting his arm about Tipper's waist and guiding her up the steps. She saw a light was flickering in the hall to the front. Turning a bit, she saw in the hall mirror a reflection of Toot and Rosemary sitting close beside Faraday's body. Toot's arm was about her shoulder and he had tears coming down his cheeks. Tipper couldn't imagine why Toot was there, except that he had to have known Faraday all of his life.

Frank led her up the steps to her room. In the light she saw Donna, and Jessica, and in the corner, a small cot that held a little girl who was sound asleep. Tipper didn't know who the child was, but Frank didn't seem concerned about it at all.

For the longest time Frank sat up from where he had made his bed on the floor to be with Tipper in case she needed anything. Something just didn't make sense to him.

Seth woke up early. He knew that they couldn't expect Mither to do much except grieve for her son and daughter, and in a way she was surprised that the MacGills and everyone else who had come to the wedding had pitched in to help with the day to day things - the laundry, the cooking, the dishes. He showered and shaved, then dressed before going downstairs to make breakfast. He was curious to discover a tea cup that was tipped over, and a kettle that was half full with water on the side board. He found some leaves in the sink and was about to throw them away when he recognized what they were from Gram's lecture. Curious, he put them in a dish to the side and began preparations to make grits for breakfast and corn bread for the lunch.

Placing fresh cold water in the kettle he put it to boil, then drew cold water into the pot for the grits and measured off the proper amount of corn meal. There were two ways to make grits; one was allowing the grits to heat and cook as the water heated. The other was more challenging: heat the water and then with cold water whisk in the corn meal and stir it into the pot fast enough so that it didn't become a gelatinous mass at the bottom. Once the corn meal was stirred in, it had to cook, going from a light yellow, if unbleached, to where it bubbled like a lava pit and became golden. It was the same way that one would make gravy, or split pea soup, which Seth knew Jessica despised as much as grits

.

He regarded the pot of bubbling corn meal. Yesterday it seemed the perfect way to turn the tables on Jessica for the oatmeal. Today, it didn't seem that important. He knew it was important to Ian and Patricia, as he had promised them he would make it, but he almost felt ashamed at what he had been thinking yesterday. Seth had wondered, though, what had taken Jessica and George so long to get back to the house after the others had been back for hours. They had arrived in the evening; George had said they had to stop off at the hospital to pick up some things, and he had a few calls to make didn't explain much. They had simply called the sleeping child Princess and took her to Jessica's room to tuck in on a little cot.

Seth stirred the batter slowly for the corn bread. At least today Ian and his sisters could eat as many corn meal muffins as they wanted. The tea kettle whistled briefly until he reached over and turned it off. Opening the tea tin he pulled out a few bags, then washed the ceramic tea pot out with hot water before placing the bags in. Using a pot holder on the handle he lifted the kettle and poured hot water over them. The grits were done. He turned off the fire on the top of the stove and put it aside, then putting the tea pot with several tea cups on the tray with the sugar and cream and two spoons, he carried it into the front parlor where he knew someone would be.

Toot was still there, holding Rosemary in his arms. They looked up at his entrance, Seth showed no surprise at the two of them, nor was their condemnation. Nodding good morning to them he placed the tea down for them on an end table. For a moment he went to where Faraday was and just stood there, regarding the young man. The presence of another doctor wouldn't have saved his life. He had seen the autopsy report when they had used a catheter scope to retrieve the bullet. At such a close range it had torn through both lungs, clipped the bottom of his heart and nicked the main artery. He had bled out in a matter of moments. He had saved Tippers life, and probably Jessica's. Whatever wrong he had done was forgivable.

Seth turned away and went down the hall back to return to the kitchen. As he passed the door next to the front sitting room he heard soft snoring. Pausing, he looked in. Willie was asleep with Taylor in his arms, still sitting in the oversized chair. Willie had come into her life and changed it. For years Seth had worried about Taylor, and how she had withdrawn from life - now association with him had brought her back into the real world.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps upstairs.

A nudge. More like a poke, really, Jessica realized as she felt it again. Blinking the sleep from her eyes she saw it was Princess standing at her bedside. There was a look of consternation on her face. Sitting upright, Jessica stood up, took the child by the hand and led her to the bathroom, where she sat on the edge of the tub, waiting. The child was smart, probably brilliant, and left in that room would have had the life of an animal. In the time since they had found her, she still hadn't spoken, but she had been taught to let someone know if she had to use the facilities.

George had insisted that they take her to the hospital, and as Jessica predicted the hospital wasn't equipped to deal with a child such as Princess. They had checked the child over briefly, then remanded her to the care of George and Jessica until her parents or family could be found. George placed a few calls, and had spoken to one of the hospital administrators while Jessica and Princess stopped at the gift shop to purchase some clothing. She had fallen asleep in the car on the way back. George didn't understand about car seats and it took some convincing for Princess to allow her to be strapped into the seat until she realized that she could see better - though she really would rather be all over the car as before.

It took about half an hour for everyone to awaken and work their way downstairs to the smell of fresh baked corn bread muffins and grits. Jessica stepped into the kitchen and saw the children around the table eating, and enjoying what they were eating. Ian was positively beaming with each bite. She felt Princess hug her leg and look down. Never having seen other children before, it must have come as somewhat of a shock to the little child as she saw them chatting happily with the others at the table. Jessica smiled and guided Princess into the room to where the table was. Pulling up a chair, she lifted Princess onto her lap and smiled again when Seth brought over two bowls with spoons, one for Princess, and one for herself. Seth had already added the cream for her as she had her hands full. She was distracted by a soft giggle from Ian as she lifted the spoon and placed it in her mouth. A gooey mass clung to the roof of her mouth as she tried not to let it hit her tongue again. She heard a giggle again and realized she had closed her eyes against the taste of the grits.

"It's quite lovely, isn't it?" said Pattie. "Dr. Seth made it special for breakfast, and we have cornbread with gravy for lunch, and … what was that other thing, Dr. Seth?"

"Home made split pea soup with chives and sour cream."

"Oh, you shouldn't go to such bother, Seth!" said Jessica after working the first accidental spoon down. She saw that Princess was looking at her with a puzzled expression on her face. Jessica wrapped her small hand about the spoon and guided it into the grits, and then to the child's mouth.

"It's no bother at all. Soaked the peas last night, so they shouldn't take long to boil down. They have this lovely bit of stuff that is called Drisín that Mither says goes perfect with split peas."

"Drisín? As in…Drisheen and Tripe?"

"Ayuh. Best you eat up before it gets cold, Jessica," said Seth, nodding to her bowl.

Jessica took a breath. She couldn't push the bowl away, and the children were giving her odd looks as they giggled among themselves. She regarded the bowl. She knew exactly why Seth had made it, and why she couldn't beg off of it. If anything, she might be able to forgo the soup later on. With as much grace as she could muster Jessica took another bite of the grits. The first time he had served them to her, quite proudly, he had provided a garnish for them of pepper and vinegar. That, he said, was the way you had them for dinner. Breakfast was different, she supposed as she felt the lump of cornmeal grow in her stomach. She looked down at Princess. The child had worked her way through the first bowl quite well. She nestled in Jessica's arms and gave a sigh.

George walked into the kitchen and hesitated. He saw the table full of children, Seth bustling about and Jessica managing to eat something that he had the feeling she would rather not be. He saw Princess snuggled against Jessica's shoulder and realized with a pang that the child was bonding to her, which would create its own difficulties.

"Good morning, Inspector, pull up a chair and I will get your breakfast for you," said Seth with a smile.

"Thank you, that's very kind of you," he said, walking over to where Jessica was and allowing his hand to brush her shoulder as he passed. Seth moved the bowl to the table as George sat.

"What's this?" he asked, curious.

"Grits," said Ian. George regarded the lad and saw the crinkle of amusement in his eyes.

"I don't believe I've ever had that" he said, his curiosity peaked.

Pattie piped up, "It's a rare treat for us. Dr. Seth is making corn bread and gravy for lunch today as well."

"_Corn bread and gravy? How do I know where this is going?"_ mused George as he took a bite of the grits. His throat closed on him as he tried to swallow the grits. George had to swallow several times before it went down. Jessica and the children were regarding him with interest.

Tipper woke to the sound of someone walking across the room. She opened her eyes and turned her head to see Willie beside Donna, speaking to her softly. She heard Donna yawn and murmur a reply. Willie patted Donna's arm, then turned and saw Tipper was awake and came over to her. He sat on her bedside and regarded her.

"How are ye feeling, Lass?" he asked her, gently covering the top of her closed hand with his.

"I'm okay…I don't feel as groggy as I did yesterday, so that has to be worth something." She saw Willie nod, then the puzzled look on his face as he realized she was holding something in her hand. He turned her hand over and opened it to find a smooth white stone with the center area worn down.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, curious.

Tipper looked at it, then pulled her other arm out from underneath the sheet blanket. Willie saw the handkerchief wrapped around her hand. There were footsteps behind Willie then they came around to the other side. Tipper realized Frank had gone to the other room to get dressed. Last night's events were a bit hazy to her, though she did remember Frank sleeping on the floor next to her bed.

"We went down for tea early this morning, and Tipper tried to lift the kettle off of the fire without using a pot holder, and she got burnt. Toot took care of it, though. He gave her the stone to hold on to while he did something with her hand."

Curious, Willie unwrapped the handkerchief and opened it up to the air. Bits of leaves were pressed into her skin. Tipper curled her hand around the stone as Willie removed the leaves and looked underneath. There was just a faint outline of redness on her hand now.

"Whoa, that looked a lot worse last night… you had blisters and everything," said Frank, looking down at her hand. He turned his attention to Willie, who was frowning. "Guess it's lucky everyone who cooks knows how to take care of burns like that."

"Well, Mither would know because she does so much cooking - she has the plant on her window ledge - and healers know, but not many else would," said Willie, turning the leaves over and then re-wrapping her hand. "Keep it on for the rest of the morning, and by lunch it can come off. Make sure you wash your hands well after handling it, the 'Wooly' leaves are a deadly poison an' swallowing even the smallest bit or the oil from them can kill a full grown man in a matter of minutes."

Turning the stone over in her hand Tipper looked at it. "How does the stone help to heal the burn?" she asked, curious.

Willie raised his eyebrows. "Dr. Henderson. Do you believe the stone helped heal you?" he teased gently.

"I don't know what to believe any more," she said softly. "I've never seen a stone like this."

"It's white marble. Nae seen one around here of it, it's na a local mineral. It's called a worry stone. When ye have difficulties ye rub the thumb over the center area, and it takes the worries away. I've seen some that have been worn clear through. By holding onto the stone, ye focus the problems to it, and away from ye. By the looks of tha', it's pretty old and well used."

"I should give it back to him…" murmured Tipper.

Willie cupped her cheek with his hand. "For right now, Lass, I think he would want you to have it, as your worries are greater than his. Now, when you're dressed, come down for breakfast, and then we are all meeting in the sitting room - there is something that Inspector Sutherland wants tae do to help clear something up."

"Dr. Hazlitt made grits this morning," said Frank with a smirk.

She made a face. "Um… seeing how I had a midnight snack, I'm really not hungry…"

"Well, there is cornbread and split pea soup with tripe for lunch…"

"Okaaay," said Tipper, not sure if Frank was teasing her. "Well, darn, it's not haggis," she said, yawning.

"Oh, I could make us a lovely bit of that for dinner if ye would like," said Willie with a twinkle in his eyes.

"No, thank you," said Frank and Tipper together.

"Ah well, as ye like," he said, patting her shoulder and rising from the bed. "I will leave ye all to it, unless ye need help dressing?" he teased.

Tipper shook her head then shooed both of them from the room. As the door closed she reflected on the white marble worry stone in her hand.

She looked up as Donna yawned again and heard her say, "Good morning…So.. I understand Frank and you went down for a midnight snack?"

Tipper nodded and regarded Donna as her next words were of no surprise. "He is quite taken with you."

"I know… I care a great deal for him, too. He is a remarkable young man."

A short time later Tipper joined the others in the back sitting room where George was pacing. Willie was standing next to Taylor who had taken a seat next to Jessica and Princess, as she had been dubbed. There were some townspeople in the room as well. Tipper noticed that they all looked closely related, or had some of the same features as the young girl that Jessica held.

When they were all assembled George nodded and began. "As some of you may know, yesterday at the estate, Mrs. Jessica Fletcher and one of my officers discovered this young child, whose parents have not been determined. We've made an official search of the files, but there are no children her age that have been reported as missing. Because of where she was found, a case by case study of the recovered bodies is being made, and I've made arrangements for DNA testing to be done to see if we can discover a family member." George saw several people give anxious glances about the room. "There won't be any fees for this to be done; we are just requesting cooperation so that we have the widest sampling possible. Each of you will be given a number, and the report will only have the numbers listed as to who is related to whom."

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. George looked around, puzzled at why there were no questions, and what the difficulty might be.

Finally one of the older men spoke up. "Can't she just keep the child and take her back to the states with her?"

Jessica looked down at Princess, who was drifting to sleep in her arms. "While the thought is delightful, I am much too old to be taking in a young child. Regardless of her parenting status, she deserves to be with her blood relatives."

Frank slid next to his dad and whispered, "Parenting status? Like, if they weren't married? What difference would that make?" Grady gently shhed him. He really didn't want to get into more of "the talk" again.

"It's very simple. There are a few questions, and then a swab is done on the inside of the mouth. Interpol has agreed to help expedite this procedure so we should know the results by tomorrow," said George, picking up a clip board. He noticed that the people in the room were exchanging glances between each other. He didn't know the name of the elderly woman who asked, "An' what if her kin are found, and don't want her?"

Frank stood up, his hands clenched tightly. "Not want her? How could you not love your own child or grandchild and not want the best for them when there are people who are trying to have kids and some kids may never get the chance to be… to be born, or to grow up at all…" His whole body was shaking. Sniffing back tears, Frank fled the room and ran outside, letting the door bang behind him. He didn't know where to go, but he had to get away. He walked fast, down the path to where the bench was where he and his father had sat the day before. Sitting on it he pulled his knees up and hugged them as tears came down unbridled He heard the crunch of gravel behind him and put his face down - he didn't want anyone to see him crying. The bench creaked slightly as someone sat. He wiped his tears with the palms of his hand and looked over at Gabe.

"I don't know how much more I can get through, Gabe. I know you said there would be a lot coming my way… but I'm just a kid, and I sort of liked not having the weight of the world on me. I'm feeling sort of squished right now."

"You remember the promise that was made to you… you're not going to be doing this alone."

"I know…Why wouldn't someone want their own kid, or grandkid, or … well, what's the big deal about parental status, anyway?"

"It means they were not married."

"Oh, that. Well, they thought Willie didn't have any 'parental status' and look how he turned out. I don't even want to try to understand how adults think…"

There was a general shuffling of people about the bed and breakfast to allow the procedure to take place in some relative bit of privacy. Seth and Willie were in separate rooms with Taylor and George taking notes and labeling the samples. It was a simple thing - the only question that was asked was, "Do you have children."

Willie was surprised to see Toot stepping into the room. He looked at Taylor, and saw that she was busy double checking the numbers. Willie regarded Toot. "Open," said Willie with out preamble. Toot opened his mouth and felt the gentle scrape against his cheek. Willie carefully placed the sample in the tube and handed it to Taylor.

"Do you have any children?" he asked.

"Aye," said Toot softly.

Willie's eyebrows went up. "Any chance you're related to Princess?" Willie asked, curious.

"I'd do right by her, if I was," was his answer before he walked out of the room.

When the last of them went through the line, and the neighbors had returned home, George and Seth entered into the room. Taylor stood up. "I have some windows to finish… Has anyone thought to ask the person who started all this, or even Flynn, about Princess?" she asked softly.

Nodding, George answered, "We did go to see them both. Flynn isn't saying, though he was surprised that there was any one else alive in the house. As for Fordham Sr., he still hasn't regained conciseness. Oh, one last pair to test - we've already tested Dr. Henderson and Dr. Hazlitt as a control group. Open up," he said, pulling out two of the unused tests and handing them to Seth.

"I haven't had any children…" said Taylor, blushing slightly.

"We know. We've slipped in a few that have, as well as their children, and it will be interesting to see if it's picked up on. You are another control element. Open up," said Seth, withdrawing the small plastic blade. When it was secured in the tube, he turned to Willie. "Open," he said.

Willie hesitated. It took a full fifteen seconds before he opened his mouth wide enough for Seth to take the sample.

"Do you have any children?" Seth asked as a matter of habit.

"I… I don't know," he said softly.

Seth saw Willie blink a few times. "George, would, you excuse us for a moment?" George nodded, closing the door behind him.

Taylor looked up from where she was writing and regarded her husband. "I am listening, husband."

Willie let out a breath of air. "Well, with you, wife, we will, but…I know they are asking about any before that are born. I - I don't know. It's na how it seems. In medical school they have classes, and teach, certain things, and, well, part of it was that ye learn by … Oh, this is going to sound bad…" He floundered, then said firmly, "There was no girl involved.. I've na had any other woman besides you."

Taylor stood and walked to Willie. She placed her hand on his chest and said softly, "I know."

She saw Willie swallow. "You know?" he replied, blinking a few times "How, do you know?" he asked, curious.

She lifted her hand up and with her finger she traced a small circle on his chest. "A girl can tell these things," she said leaning close to him.

Willie blinked faster. "Tell what things?"

She leaned closer and whispered something in his ear. Seth saw Willie flush and gasp, shocked. "Wife!"

"Yes, Husband?"

Seth walked over and picked up the notes from where Taylor had left them. "I'll just get

these to George…" he said, closing the door behind him.

Tipper sat in the garden on the grass under the willow tree near where Taylor and Willie had been married not long ago. She could remember the music, and dancing with Faraday. She pulled the worry stone out of her pocket and regarded it. Something about it seemed so familiar, yet she couldn't put her finger on it. She looked up as she heard the crunch of dirt coming up the path from the house. She knew that where she sat, she was almost unseen unless the person happened to look down, back, and over. It was Toot, walking back to his home. She was going to let him pass when she felt the coolness of the stone in her hand again.

"Toot?" She saw him stop and turn, then back up a step. The last time that they had spoken she had mentioned amputating his leg. She was glad to see that he was walking better on it.

He placed his hands in the pockets of his dirty blue coat and after a moment asked, "Yes, lass?"

Tipper got to her feet and walked to him. "Last night - I want to thank you for helping me with my hand. It was very kind of you. Where did you learn about that herb?"

"From my mother."

Tipper opened her hand that was holding the stone. "Did she give you this?"

He shook his head. "Tha' was my grand father's."

"Your grandfathers…oh… then you will be needing it back," she said, handing it to him.

Toot shook his head again. "Nae, lass. Ye keep it. I've no kin that would care if I lived or died to hand it down to - tis fitting that it should go to a healer as yourself." He closed his hand over hers.

"But …"

"Lass, I am a dead man walking. I've just left my last worry behind the door and I am going home to settle what I might before I enter into hell again."

"That sounds rather ominous," she said. "Is Toot your real name?" she asked, curious.

He stepped towards her and bent his head over to her ear. "Amroth Telemnar," he said softly before giving her cheek a kiss. Stunned she felt him let go of her hand and watched him walk along the ridge to his home. The kiss had been rather fatherly, and she noticed that he didn't smell of whiskey, only faintly of the goats. Making her way down the hill she entered into the bed and breakfast and began searching for answers.

Jessica found Tipper sitting in the back study sipping tea. Ever present was Princess, who stayed close to Jessica, never letting her out of her sight. There were a stack of books around Tipper and she had a sketch pad with notations on it. "Tipper, what is it?"

"I keep having dreams, Jessica, about … well, about Faraday and the day he died, and the house and something he said regarding a treasure… though I don't suppose Princess is the treasure, not in the way they were speaking about. Faraday said there were books in the library about the estate, and I looked on the map, there isn't a library around here for miles. Not for several towns over, and not that he could get access to as a child. It got me thinking that he meant here in the bed and breakfast, and sure enough, there are parts in all of these books about the estate. They are what you'd call a record of the decades since the house was built, and the entire history of what was going on – it's all here. Each time that Fordham Sr. would have a party, or invite a class to tour the estate, all the students are recorded here. There were about ten copies of these books made, and it looks like these came from the local school… though Faraday says that the students now go to another school, so it explains why they may have the copies here. They sometimes sell old books to raise money, and it's easier to sell the ones people don't read for a few dollars."

"What did you find out?"

Tipper shoved a book at Jessica, who read what was written and then looked at Princess.

"_Of the blood shall come one_

_Who speaks in ways of old_

_Who holds the sword_

_Holds the crown_

_That rests upon _

_The wayward head._

_Strike down through blood _

_Cast down through bone_

_Of all who stand in line_

_To walk up on the alter_

_Cast through the one_

_Who speaks of old_

_Blood to free the bond_

_Treasure to reveal."_

Jessica regarded the passage, and then the child upon her lap. "Are you suggesting that in order to gain access to the treasure, she was going to be sacrificed for her blood?"

Tipper shrugged. "Jessica, after reading this history nothing about this family would surprise me. I've learned something else as well. It talks about the true heir that will be able to open the place where the treasure is, but he or she has to be pure of heart - if there is a life taken by that person's hand they can't gain access to the treasure, they are dead to the family. Of course, that might be a tradition in this area, and that makes sense in itself - Toot told me today that he was a walking dead man – no, wait, he said he was a dead man walking. He gave me this-" she held out the worry stone to Jessica - "and Willie said that there isn't any white marble in this area. He said that his great-grandfather gave it to him. This book lists Gram's marriage - her name is Inwë Telemnar Razanur Toot. Well, he shares the same last name as her maiden name but he isn't listed as being born. It lists the children born in the hamlet as well, and mentions a few other Telemnars but not Toot - it doesn't list anything beyond Gram, who she married besides her last name as Razanur, or her children. I guess it's when they went into hiding, but it doesn't make sense if everything that they did was recorded here."

"When did he give you the stone?" inquired Jessica, curious.

Tipper looked at it, then unwrapped her hand. "Last night I burnt my hand on the tea kettle handle. Toot wrapped it with these leaves and his handkerchief and it was blistered according to Frank… and it's healed, Jessica. In all of my days of being a doctor I have never seen anything like it… but it seems like Mither knows about it, and Willie as well. I know this isn't making much sense… "

"Oh, but it is, Tipper… tell me what else you remember and have found out…"

Willie walked down to the church with Taylor and entered through the back doors. Everything that she had worked on was still in the back of the church, waiting for her to continue.

"I was going to say, right, lets get this going to be finished with it, but, suddenly I am feeling like it's the most important thing to do right now…" said Willie. Please show me what to do to help you," he said, taking a breath and looking at her design.

"Well, it could go better if I cut, and you place it in the c channels in the frame, and then once that's done we can weld it up…"

"Na you, Wife. I will do the welding," said Willie a bit firmly.

"I'm able to weld, Husband."

"Aye, you are. An' going on that we are with child, I will na have you near the lead fumes of it," he said, wagging his finger at her.

"With child? We are only married two days, husband…"

Willie regarded her. "Gram says we are, so we are."

She saw he was serious. "With child?" she repeated.

"Aye, according to Gram there will be triplets. She has never been incorrect regarding pregnancy so early before…"

"Husband? Could Gram help Donna? Or could you?"

"I don't know if there is help for tha' child. Gram doesn't practice anymore, and you are right, the town needs a healer."

"Are you thinking to move back here to take up your practice again? Would you just stand by while the child fails?"

Willie shook his head. "I can't heal anymore, Wife…"

"Why not, husband?"

"Because I can not heal the hatred in my heart for what has been done to the innocents. I took a vow to heal, and to care. I have had enough of the likes of that family murdering mine, and knew that to end it I had to do something. Thinking of murdering someone, in the eyes of a healer, is the same as murdering that person. My heart was dead. I was dead. The only thing I didn't count on was being brought back to life by you…"

"Wouldn't it start by helping to heal again? It's grand to say 'being brought back to life,' but there are those whose lives have been touched and paid dearly for the dream. What of Sara, and Rosemary, and the children, what will happen to them? They can't go back to the projects, and they have no home… unless they come back with us…"

She saw Willie take in a breath and then let it out slowly. "That's something that will be decided later, wife. They might stay with Gram, or Mither… or they may choose to come to stay with us, or go their own way back into hiding. I canna help Donna and the child - if she isn't willing to accept help there is little tha' can be done. I do not feel their cure in my heart. Something is still very wrong in the air and water and upon this earth. I do not believe that all of the evil blood has been found out. I feel it in my bones…"

Father Brian came out of the rectory and into the church. He heard singing, but it wasn't any hymn that he knew of. He saw at the back of the church watching Willie and Taylor working on the windows. Two more had been completed, though not set into the frame of the church, and they were working on wrapping the last window. Willie was teaching her to sing in Gaelic, and he was translating the lines once she learned how the words sounded. If she would mispronounce a word that would mean something else, he would tell her what she had said. For the longest time he watched them, then cleared his throat as Willie began to become playful in their kissing.

Willie looked up and smiled as Father Brian came to them and regarded the windows.

"Good, with two of us, we can get the windows lifted an' in before supper…" Willie said, then saw that there was something troubling Father Brian. The back door opened, and a draft of cold air swept into the church. Taylor shivered, and saw it was Officer O'Neil and the constable. Both men came into the church and for a moment looked around at the work that had been done.

"How much of this was done today?" asked Officer O'Neil, pointing to the two windows.

"Well, they were cut yesterday, most of it at least, and channeled today… why?" asked Willie, curious.

Officer O'Neil looked at Father Brian, who shrugged. "I wasn't in the church this morning, I couldn't tell you if they were put together today, or last night."

"You didn't go back to Gram's last night…We asked, so that's a good eighteen hours that isn't accounted for."

Taylor turned to Willie and regarded him. Something was very wrong. "We stayed at Mither's. We slept in the chair together in the back sitting room. Why? What is going on?" she asked Willie.

"Someone fitting your description arrived at the hospital during the night and paid a visit on Furhdaham, Nothing was thought of it, until this afternoon when you were seen again visiting Flynn… and when the nurse went to check his bandage they found him dead. They checked Furdaham and found he had passed on as well, near about the same time, and both from the same cause. Willie MacGill, I have no choice but to arrest you for their murders."

"Yes you do have a choice! You can find out the truth! We stayed at Mither's because Tipper had been traumatized by Faraday's death, and she had been having nightmares. We were with Inspector Sutherland most of the morning then came directly here and have been working since then. If Willie wanted to harm Furdaham he could have simply not resuscitated him when they found him three days ago suffering from being poisoned by Flynn."

Officer O'Neil shifted his stance. "Ma'am - there is evidence that the manner of the death would be directly related to information only known by an herbal healer such as your husband."

"Willie isn't the only one in the area that understands herbs!"

"I am sorry, Ma'am. The laws are specific here. I have to follow them. I have to arrest him for their murders."

"Contact Inspector Sutherland - he can tell you what Willie has been doing this morning."

"Inspector Sutherland has returned to Dublin. He is attending to other matters that require his presence, and will not be available until late afternoon," said the constable, regarding Willie.

"Well, then you will have your answer and it will be cleared up!" she said, exasperated. She saw the look on Willies face. "Husband, what is it?"

Willie looked at Officer O'Neil, then to the constable, then back to his wife. "It won't do any good, Wife. Tomorrow will be too late."

She stepped closer to Willie and looked into his eyes. "I don't understand," she said softly.

"We don't have the grand trials that you do… it's much more simple if you're accused of a crime such as murder, it's taken care of by sunset. The preferred method is by hanging," he said to her as gently as he could.

"No!" she gasped, feeling faint. She looked out the window and saw there wasn't much daylight left. She turned back to Officer O'Neil. "You can not allow this! Willie has done nothing - he hasn't killed anyone! "

"Ma'am, we have him arriving on the hospital security tapes, He pulled the collar of his brown suit over the bottom of his face to hide who he was, went in, and killed them both."

"He doesn't even own a brown suit! He has one, and its blue. It's the only one that I have ever seen him wear. Officer O'Neil, if you hang him, you are murdering an innocent man and helping Furdaham with the continual murder of our family. And I want to know, if this law is so absolute, why wasn't it enforced when Flynn killed his own step son, or when the thirty bodies were recovered at the estate? "

Willie sighed. "Because it wasn't his place to enforce it, Wife. Nor would it have been my right to do it either. It would have fallen to Faraday's father, or mine, an' both of them are dead." Willie saw the glint of grim satisfaction in the constable's eyes.

"What if you don't go - what would they do then?" she asked, trying to hold herself together.

Willie placed his hands on either side of her shoulders. "They would arrest everyone that is related to me, and send them off to prison."

"Look, are you even going to bother asking if anyone saw anything that could prove what we have said is the truth?" asked Taylor, feeling exasperated.

"Yer kin would lie for you," the constable said dryly.

Taylor straightened up. "Mrs. Jessica Fletcher wouldn't lie. Nor would Dr. Hazlitt or Dr. Henderson. Or are you afraid of what the truth would really be?" Taylor was feeling very weak in her knees. She let out a gasp when she saw Gabe coming from the direction of the front side entrance - he had heard what the constable had said. She blurted, "Gabe, they don't believe that Willie and I were here since we left the bed and breakfast earlier, that we made these windows last night for an alibi. "

"Well, that's easy to find out," he said, pointing to the security cameras that were perched out of reach in the far corner of the church. "I believe the tape unit is in the basement. Why don't Father Brian, the constables and I go down and see?"

"We can all go down," said Officer O'Neil. Carefully they made their way down to the basement of the church, where Gabe's fingers moved over the equipment and rewound the tape that was in the recorder to the beginning. He worked the buttons and in a moment an image came up. On the bottom of the screen was the time index.

"When did you say that they saw Willie enter into the hospital?" asked Taylor.

"About 1 pm." Gabe rewound the tape then hit the play button. The time index read 11:14 am when the door opened and Taylor and Willie entered the building. There was no sound, but they could see Willie speaking to her, and kissing her gently. They could see the windows were just in pieces. Gabe used the fast forward button to skim through the day, and it was clear that the two of them didn't leave the church at any time. He ended the fast forward just after Officer O'Neil and the constable entered into the church. By the time that they made it back up the steps, the sun had set.

"I'm still na convinced that there wasn't tom foolery tae make that tape. Might bit too convenient for my liking," grumbled the constable.

Officer O'Neil cleared his throat. "Well, it's moot now."

Taylor watched, puzzled, as the constable stomped out of the church and down the steps. "I don't understand…" she said, a bit bewildered.

"Same law that says that the accused should be hanged at sunset frees the accused if they can live past sunset without the noose about their necks. Ah, well, I'll buy him a round and he will be fine about it in the morning. Though I don't like the thought of someone trying to frame you for murder…" said Officer O'Neil with a sigh.

"It's been done before… and they didn't succeed then, either…" said Willie softly.

"Officer O'Neil, if anyone can find out who did this, it would be Jessica Fletcher. By the way, what was used to kill them?" asked Gabe curiously.

"It's a weed that the locals call Lamb's Wool, or Wooly because of its texture. Its oils are fine for the outside of the body, but apparently are highly toxic if they are ingested. Most every home here has some of it in their garden for burns, but it's one of those forgotten things that our grandparents tell us about and we shrug off as superstitious nonsense. Unless, of course, you know that a single leaf of the plant will kill a full grown man," said O'Neil.

"Then the person who did this could be anyone," pressed Taylor. "And it's just really supposition that the person in the brown coat did anything, because no one saw that person do it, did they?"

"Wife?"

"Yes, Husband?"

"Let's go home," he said, weary.

"Yes, Husband," she said stepping into his arms and wrapping herself about him, giving him a kiss upon his lips.

Discreetly Officer O'Neil and Father Brian withdrew from the church, leaving Gabe behind. Taylor stepped back and regarded Gabe as he stood there smiling at them. She held out her arm to him and with one on either side of her they walked out of the church, down the steps and up to Mither's bed and breakfast. They could hear a harmonica being played inside and the sounds of people singing along with it.

Gabe hesitated at the steps to the porch. "I have to go, " he said gently to Taylor.

"Will you be back, later?" she asked softly. Taylor had started up the steps and turned to face Gabe. The expression on his face was unreadable before he smiled and shrugged.

"Timing is everything. And, well, it's been centuries since I have been to Ireland, and there's the Blarney Stone which I want to ki…"

His words were cut short by Taylor placing her hands on either side of his face and planting a soft kiss upon his lips. "Thank you, for being an Angel… you, won't be a stranger, will you?"

She saw him smile gently before giving her a long hug. "I will always be around when you need me… even to change many, many, diapers," he murmured in her ear before kissing her back, then releasing her. Gabe turned to Willie and gave him a hug and a kiss upon his lips as well before turning back down the path and disappearing into the darkness as he waved good-bye.

"Wife?"

"Yes, Husband?"

"Does he kiss every one like that when he goes?"

"Only those he loves," she said, gathering his hand in hers and drawing him to the door of the bed and breakfast.

"Wife, ye should know that the same plant that was used to heal Tipper's hand was the one used to kill Furdaham and Flynn," he said before she opened the door.

She let out a long breath. "Our clan wears blue. Furdaham's wears the brown. I saw it on every painting at the estate, and on a fair few of the people whom I have met in this town. Tonight, husband, we give Faraday a proper send off, and tomorrow he joins the ones we miss the most…"

Jessica felt a feathery kiss upon her cheek as she wiggled her toes. Opening her eyes she realized she had fallen asleep in the front room with Faraday in repose. Across the room was Toot, who was carving something carefully, and Mither who was resting her head on his shoulder. Looking over she realized that it was George who had kissed her awake, and he wore a bemused expression. It was day break and she could hear people milling about .

"Oh my… I … "

"It's alright, Jessica. Thank ye for helping with first watch. Staying up till 2 am at any age is wearying to the bones," said Mither to Jessica. Mither looked at George. "I take it you have the answers we need?"

"Some answers, and some questions as well…"

Jessica regarded Toot. "I can guess what some of those will be. Do you want to hear them now, or with Willie and Taylor here?"

Mither placed her hand on his arm. "They all have the right to know, Amroth."

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Frank sat on the floor between his parents' legs and leaned against his mother. George was pacing as those who stayed overnight at the bed and breakfast came down. Some of the people from the village came as well, as they were curious about the test results. George had announced that if the person whom they had tested was clear, then they could go. He saw their confusion, then began calling names and in a short while had people sorted into different rooms. It took a while for him to go from room to room and tell the people that while they were all related, they were not related to the little girl and could go home. This worked out well for the first three groups, except that in one of the groups it was discovered that the child of one woman was not her husband's, but another's. George suggested retesting and then escorted them outside to deal with things.

His last room was the one that held Mither, Willie, Taylor, Toot and the clan MacGill with the Fletchers, and a small, too thin woman who looked as if she would fall apart any moment. Princess was sitting on the floor playing with Shauna and Emily.

George closed the door and opened the pack of papers. Before he had a chance to begin the thin woman spoke up. "That child. She's.. she _is_ Maggie's, isn't she?"

George nodded, then asked her gently, "Did you suspect your daughter was with child, Mrs. Connors? "

The woman hung her head. "Her father and she got into an argument, just before she left. She tried to tell me, and he kept telling her she was a university graduate, and she should deal with her own problems… I didn't see her ever again. Who is the lad that…" started Mrs., Connor.

"The child's father is deceased as well, Mrs. Connor. Though you should know, in her personal effects we found an engagement ring. He had asked her to marry him… until she disappeared."

"Who?" Mrs. Connor asked.

"Faraday." For a moment it looked like she was going to scream, or faint, or perhaps both. Her hand flew to her mouth and she closed her eyes, shaking away any form of comfort.

Composing herself she looked at Mither. "I canna take her home with me. Maggie's da would be the death of her."

"Maggie may be buried with our family - with Faraday, if you wish," said Willie to Mrs. Connor.

For a moment she looked at Faraday's body, then to Princess, and then back to Willie. Slowly she nodded. Willie strode to her and clasped her hand with his, and pressed something into her hand. She closed her fingers about it, then looked back at Princess. "Would ye be kind enough to call her by her mother's given name of Margarita? "

Mither nodded, quite numb herself from the information. Rising from her chair, Mrs. Connor walked over to Princess and gave her a hug before walking from the room and out of the bed and breakfast.

George paced a moment then stopped and opened up the folder and adjusted his glasses.

"It is no surprise to know that Donna and Grady Fletcher are the parents of Frank Fletcher Jr., and that Jessica is cousin to Rosemary, who is sister to Emma MacGill, and Marshal is father to Tracy and cousin to Grady Fletcher. Willie is brother to Sara MacGill and uncle to Pattie, Ian, Shauna and Emily. Going into this, we had known - suspected, actually - and confirmed that Mither is Willie and Sara's aunt, Faraday was a cousin. However, there were two surprises that we found …"

Gram interrupted him. "Nae. It isn't yours to tell, Inspector," she said, rising from her chair. She took a breath and gave him a push out of the door, snagging the open file as she closed it between them. "I need to have a word with my clan…"

George watched from the back porch as the procession worked its way up the hill, the men of the family carrying Faraday in a wooden coffin, and the remains of Maggie and Myrna in separate smaller boxes that reminded him of picnic coolers. Tipper was going to stay behind: she knew the burial was just for family, but Gram took her by the hand and leaned on her all the way up the hill and through the woods.

"You need to go. You need to say goodbye," Gram said softly to Tipper as they walked through the forest. Gram regarded Tipper and inclined her head to her, saying softly, "Amroth feels the sight in you, as do I. You see things and feel things others don't or will na see. Are we correct? The dead speak to you?"

"I keep seeing Faraday in my dreams…I don't know if he is trying to tell me something or what. It just happens," Tipper said with a shrug. She heard Gram make a non-committal sound as she helped her up the stony path.

The burial place looked like any other clearing, except for the white stones that lay about with markings upon them. They reminded her of children's playing blocks. A hole had been dug, deep enough and wide enough for the boxes that were slowly lowered into the earth. Tipper watched as they filled the hole up with dirt, and then sprinkled seeds over the ground so that in a short time it would look like any other part of the woods.

Gram had just told them that Toot was family. She didn't explain any more than that, but for those who were in the room, it was enough. Tipper watched Toot now as he finished sprinkling the last of the seed and then he began to sing softly. She realized he had a lovely voice - not that she understood a word of what he was saying, but from the tears in Mither's and Gram's eyes, she knew it was words that were dear to their hearts.

When the burial was finished, Jessica had a quiet word with Grady and Donna and the others. In silence Marshal led his family back down the path to the bed and breakfast, letting the small group have its privacy away from the town.

Toot sat down upon one of the larger white stones and for a moment Tipper thought he was going to have a heart attack. "Ye have the right to know… to know… the truth."

"That you're Willie and Sara's father and husband to Rosemary? Only a healer would know how to help Tipper, and only family stays with the dead the first night," said Jessica softly. "And the reason why you had people believe you were dead was why …?"

"It was to protect the family. There had been more and more actions against us, and I knew that they wouldn't stop until all possibilities of our line had ended. I lived away for a while, changed what I did, and what I looked like. If they thought me dead, they would believe the line was ended, and leave the ladies alone… but they didn't. I didn't know Rosemary had conceived, an' I didn't know until she had given birth and taken Sara away that I was now a father. I found a place that was near, and I became Toot, the goat man who was so disgusting no one would have anything to do with me - na' even my own son - while I was able to take care of my family at a distance as a dodgy, dirty old man. I thought we would be safe.

"Ian Furdaham killed Jacob, Mither's husband. Faraday and Myrna were just two, and he shot him dead in front of the children so that they would have the fear of Furdaham in them. Mither was in the barn, and he was coming after her, and… and he found himself at the middle of the family sword by my hand. I put the body in the wagon, cleaned up the area and dumped it at the gates. I was dead to my family - it didn't matter as long as they were safe. For a while they were, then… then Stephan came, and I knew there was bad happenings. Mum couldn't remember though, and so I waited one day when Willie was out, and I saw what Stephan was doing, and I ended it for him just as my own son would ha killed me had he had the chance… and I washed my mum, like a little child, and placed her into bed, and I gave her bitterroot so she wouldn't remember what he had done to her. The constable knew there was dirty dealings going on, and that Stephan was no great loss.

"The children of the town started disappearing, and I couldn't stop him. I knew Furdaham was behind it… I didn't know Flynn was helping, and I didn't know that he was trying to brain wash Faraday into hating the family. He went along with things because he was told to by the only father he knew. He didn't understand what was going on, that somehow Furdaham had discovered Mither was part of the family - though it was perhaps when she had twins. Uncommon as they are, every generation had them, and Furdaham was desperate to find every one of the family to kill us even if it meant taking out the entire town. So now you know," he said wistfully. Rosemary went to him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Is that why you killed Flynn and Furdaham?" Jessica asked

Toot looked up shocked and shook his head. "Na, I didna kill them. They had been caught by the law, and the law would deal with them, and I maybe would ha been able to then properly become a da to my children."

Tipper spoke up. "He couldn't have gone to the hospital that night, he was with Rosemary in the front room, he helped me with my burn - there wouldn't have been time for him to go there as well. And he was speaking with me in the back yard when the dose was given."

"A matter of Timing…" murmured Taylor. "Husband?"

"Yes, wife?" He saw a struggle on her face.

"I know who killed them… and I am to blame…" Taylor felt everyone's eyes upon her.

George watched for the group to come down the hill back to the bed and breakfast. Seth had been a bit more than polite to him as they waited - George had seen the test results, and had quietly informed Seth that Toot was Willie's father and Mither's brother.

"I am sorry to say that I am still very jealous of your relationship with Jessica, Dr. Hazlitt," said George suddenly.

"My relationship? Jessica and I are just good friends. You know that," replied Seth, a bit baffled. "Haven't we been through this before? "

"Which is exactly my point. You know her far more intimately than I do, you know her likes, and dislikes. She allows you to assist her in doing the day-to-day concerns: after that bit with the sink, she won't let me near a wrench. I am afraid of you, Dr. Hazlitt, because I can never _be_ you - never have the relationship you share with Jessica."

"You're her lover. I - could never be that. You bring a part of her alive and that hasn't happened since Frank died. You're her friend, too, in a different way… I was never jealous of you, though. Resentful, maybe, angry that you took liberties with her, but not jealous. As her friend, I want Jessica to be happy, as her doctor, I am hoping that some positive influence of the male gender kind would assist Jessica. She needs a companion, and a friend… but the answer would be that either she would have to move in with you, or you move to Cabot Cove - and in that case, as the townspeople's tongues wag like puppy dog tails, Jessica better have a ring on her finger if you're going to continue with the shenanigans…"

"Shenanigans? Ohh, I rather like that word. Might have it tattooed on my chest," said George, grinning. "I understand you're serious, Dr. Hazlitt, but I can appreciate the humor behind it."

"Really?" said Seth, taking two aprons off of the hook and tossing the pink one at George, who caught it deftly. "Funerals and weddings tend to bring the most hungry out in people," he said, putting the strap of the blue frilly one over his neck.

"That looks lovely on you - the blue brings out the color in your eyes," said George as he fumbled to put the apron on properly. He paused. "They will laugh, won't they?" he said with a sigh.

"Not if we have everything ready in time," replied Seth, opening up the fridge.

Tipper sank into the oversized chair in the back sitting room, a plate full of nibbles at her elbow. Toot had given her a mug of something to stop the visible trembling of her body that she had been having since the return from burying Faraday. She had had her chance to say good-bye to him, and it was as hard as losing him the first time. Cleaned up, Toot didn't look half bad, and he had told her he was sorry for the shock he had given her when they first had met. She'd learned that he had been trained as a healer, and had asked him why he didn't do anything about the goat bite when it happened. She had watched him struggle with the answer before he explained that a goat man wouldn't know those things.

She drew in a long breath then let it out as she sipped the strange drink. It was both bitter and sweet; it was cool, yet warmed her. She couldn't eat. Not now at least. She felt her eyes grow heavy as she let sleep claim her.

Shivering, Tipper looked around. She sat up and realized she was in a room she hadn't seen before. Rising from the chair she walked across the room following the sounds that she couldn't explain. Drawing closer she heard a groan followed by gaspings and an outcry of agony. There was a pause as her fingertips touched the doorknob, then the sound of an infant crying. Tipper opened the door and found herself in the hall of the grand staircase. A table was set under the stained glass windows. A small girl was watching everything happening from where she sat under the window sill. She looked at Tipper, who realized that it was Margarita.

There was something bloody lying on the table, covered with a sheet. She saw a man with white curly hair on one side of his head and black curly hair on the other dressed in a brown coat standing over the person on the table. His hand raised, and she saw the glint of a knife as it slashed downward, spilling red over the edge of the table. It splashed down, some of it into a bucket that was there. Something wiggling was lifted upward from the body on the sheet and the man carried it down to the marble post, laying it on the top of it. Lifting his hand again, Tipper saw a long sword. The infant's screams were cut short as blood splashed down over the marble post.

She felt a weight on her chest, one she couldn't explain, one that prevented her from breathing, and screaming. She felt herself being pulled along and shoved into darkness, then a single ray of light illuminated where she was. There was gold - piles of gold like one would see in the movies. Margarita was there, standing beside a chair that held a crown on its seat. There were jars with things floating in them, herbs hanging from hooks, and a book that opened under her gaze. She heard a voice say, "Chose wisely." Turning, Tipper saw the gold again, but it was covered in blood, and blood was rising from the floor. She placed her hand on the book. She felt a burning on her hand as it went through the pages and when she lifted it, she held a white stone in her hand.

Lifting up the book and going to Margarita she carried both out of the room and found herself back to where the grand staircase was. Margarita was once again sitting on the window ledge watching everything that Tipper did. Bodies lay everywhere. She knew they were all dead, all had their blood removed. The stair case was red as the sunlight streamed through the windows. They were all young - they all had their eyes open, and their eyes followed her as she carried the stone up the steps, winding upward. As she walked she could hear clicking. She placed the stone in an indentation on the window ledge beside Margarita and heard the roar of something behind her. In the reflection of the window Tipper saw it was a wall of blood rushing at her with a thousand knives swirling in the wave. She backed up, and fell through the window screaming as one of the knives pierced her heart.

Hands held her. She struggled against the hands as something heavy hit her in the chest, pressing downward. A blinding light burned through her brain. She saw movement in the light and saw Faraday there, standing with Gabe, who came to her and took her hand. "It isn't time yet," he told her. Then there was darkness and a womb-like warmth and comfort. She could hear her name being called from far away. Cold on her chest - icy cold that she tried to bat away. Gentle hands took hers guiding them back to her sides.

Opening her eyes, Tipper realized she was outside, on the ground by the steps of the front porch. Her blouse was open and a hand pressed something cold to her skin. Blinking, she followed a blue line upward before she realized that it was Willie using a stethoscope to listen to her heart.

"It's going again. She is back with us," she heard him say with relief. She saw Seth kneeling by her head and he had tears streaming down his face. She took a breath on her own and realized her chest hurt.

"I'm alright," Tipper said softly. She didn't have the strength to move.

"Ye are na alright, lass, ye died… the ambulance is on its way to take you to the hospital."

Tipper fretted under all of the wires and iv lines they had placed in her. They had no explanation for why it had happened when she seemed to be in perfect health, albeit a bit underweight. A night under observation was what they had planned. Tipper wasn't too keen on it. They had mixed wards at the hospital unless you'd just had a baby or had some illness that was catching, and she found she had two room mates: one an old man who wheezed as he breathed, the other a young kid who reminded her of Frank when he first came to Cabot Cove, all wiggly. Both of them were asleep, thankfully, at that time.

Willie had fretted over her. While the hospital said no visitors after hours, he stayed, and he was trying to convince them George could stay as well – at the moment he was busy speaking to the nurse down the hall. She could hear his voice far away. Closing her eyes she tried to block out the steady beep of her heart monitor.

She felt something wet touch her forehead, and Latin murmured over her as more wet was traced as a cross on her chest. She opened her eyes and saw a priest bending over her. She blinked a few times and tried to lift her head up. She saw him open a small golden pill holder and take out a round wafer that had something pressed on the underside of it. It was a leaf. She knew it was the same leaf that had been put on her burn, and she knew that if it went into her mouth there wouldn't be anything that the hospital could do in time before she died.

Clamping her jaw shut she pressed her lips firmly together while her fingers worked at winding around the wires to her leads. She hated the glue that they held the EKG leads with it - was horrid stuff. She heard the monitor pick up her movement, and as she strained to remove the lead the beeps increased. It hurt like the dickens when she managed to pull one of them free. There was a tone, a steady obnoxious tone that startled the priest and, she hoped, would alert the people at the nurse's desk. She felt his fingers pinch open her cheeks and try to force the wafer into her mouth. Tipper managed to bite his hand hard enough to draw blood, and he dropped half of the wafer in the process, but not before some of it and the leaf were shoved in her mouth. George burst in the room and hauled off, hitting the priest hard enough to slam him against the wall and leave a dent in the plaster board.

Tipper was having a time spitting out the bitter bits and pieces that had been in her mouth. Willie came in the room with the crash cart and shoved it aside as he saw her still spitting the pieces out of her mouth. Carefully with gloves he pushed a finger into her mouth and helped to remove everything, then allowed her to sit up and rinse her mouth out with water and spit into the basin. George left the priest face down on the floor in hand cuffs and came over to the two of them. He could see that Willie's hands were shaking as he finally gathered Tipper into his arms and held her close before he laid her back down and fussed over re-attaching the lead and resetting the heart monitor.

"Hey, I'm okay. Really. Just really, really confused right now. Who is he? I - I saw him before … when I died."

"Oh, that's Father Dania. Taylor and Jessica realized the only ones who can truly be coming and going at all hours in a hospital would either be the doctors and nurses or the clergy.Father Brian is too new of a clergy person to not be noticed right away, and a right handsome chap like that will be noticed anywhere he goes. Father Dania told the diocese that he was going on sabbatical but never told the hospital, and when it came time to know when there were new people here, they called him - owing to his use of a cell phone, they never knew they weren't calling the church. When he wakes up we can ask him why he killed the other two, but best guess is, he wanted it to end. You on the other hand… well, old habits of helping to kill off the family were too much to ignore. I am sorry."

"Sorry? For what?" she asked, trying to get comfortable in the hospital bed once he allowed her to lean back. For a moment she fiddled with the controls to help her sit up, but they were in Gaelic and nothing she pressed would let her move more than a few inches up before her heart monitor would beep again.

Willie took the control away from her, lifted her shoulders up and eased a pillow under them so she would be more comfortable. "Toot has always been a bit single-minded in all of the years that I've known him. He told us when you were being loaded into the ambulance that he gave you something to help with your dreaming - to sort things out once and for all. It's nae a proper thing to do an' he knew that it would make ye a wee bit ill in the process, an' he knew there was a murderer about these halls. So he insisted George come along to protect you, and to see things were done right…an' stay my hand against harming the man who caused the family harm all these years. What he didn't count on was that you hadn't eaten before you drank it, and it caused your heart to stop after you did a bit of sleepwalking and fell down the porch steps. He would have given it to Taylor, but, well, we're with child, and so are Sara and Donna, and that would have left cousin Tracy, but he didn't think she would take anything from him as willingly. They have been having dreams of sorts, too - but different, na as strong as yours. The good thing about what he did is, well, part of what he gave you was the antidote to the Lambs Wool plant that he felt sure that was to be used again, and he said that even if we didn't get to you in time, it wouldn't have done much to you except take away your sense of taste for a while …"

Tipper saw George packaging the bits of leaf and crushed wafer that she had spit out into a bag. "Gives the term 'last rites' a whole new meaning," he said as he strode over to Father Dania, pulled the groaning man to his feet and dragged him out of the room.

"I - I saw Faraday again, and he was with Gabe … is Gabe dead, Willie? I saw… horrible things being done at the estate, and I saw Margarita there … in my dream…"

Willie tucked the covers under her arms. "When you first fell asleep, she crawled up onto your lap, and was napping with you until you started sleepwalking. She tried to get you to stop your path outside because she knew something was wrong. Your mind was putting her into your dream."

"Oh… but it was so real…" she said softly.

Willie brushed a wisp of hair from Tipper's cheek. "Tonight you will be staying here, and no arguing to me about that. Tomorrow, if you're a very good girl, we will see how real your dream was. And I am sure Gabe is fine. You may have put him in your dream because you know that he would do anything to help you, just like Faraday would. George will be staying the night with you - he snores, so just give him a nudge and he will roll over. If anything could face that snoring menace, the world would be in jeopardy," he said with a bemused grin.

"Okay. Hang on … Taylor's with child? Since when?" she said, a faint blush on her cheek from her curiosity.

"Since the night of the wedding, of course. Gram says it's so, and that we're to have triplets. You will be one of the Godmothers, won't you?"

Willie just looked at Tipper as she started to giggle. "If being a Godmother is anything like being a maid of honor, I need to have some serious discussions with my life insurance agent…"

Bending over he gave her lips a gentle kiss before standing up and turning out her overhead light. "Best you get some rest, lass," he said softly, smiling himself.

Tipper felt a bit too wound up to sleep just then. She craned her neck about, waiting for George to come back into the room. When he did, he pulled up a chair and took her hand in to his.

"You know, you _could_ go back to the bed and breakfast and be with Jessica…" she said softly.

George looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Well, yes, but if something else should happen to you, she would never forgive me. The hospital here is full of doctors that are trained to heal, but very few policemen," he said with a knowing nod.

"But I am fine. Willie said I had the antidote to the poison in me, and the worst that would happen was that I would lose my taste."

"That's if it only made it into your mouth. If you happened to swallow any bit of it, even the tiniest of fragments, the doctors here have informed me that … well. I don't wish to alarm you, m' dear, but in your current condition, if even the tiniest bit got into your digestive tract, even with what Toot says is an antidote, it would have had dire consequences."

"You're kidding, right?" Tipper said, regarding him as he settled into the chair. "Anyway, Flynn and Fordham Sr. are dead, and Father Dania's been arrested – why do I still need guarding?"

"My dear, I am a chief inspector of Scotland Yard. If there was not the potential for your life to be at risk tonight, I would not be here … Tell me, what side of your family is Irish? Henderson isn't quite a name that they have around here."

"Irish? Oh no, French-Canadian, with a bit of English, but, no, no Irish..."

She saw George raise his eyebrow slightly. "Oh… interesting. "

Jessica and Taylor were still up when Willie arrived at the bed and breakfast; the others had fallen asleep several hours before. He kissed both of them then sat down in the chair next to Taylor and took a sip of her tea from her mug.

"George will be staying with Tipper tonight, Aye, you were right, it was Father Dania, Aunt Jessica, and no, wife, it wasn't your fault that he killed Fordham and Flynn. He would have snapped regardless in time. He won't be harming anyone again. Which leaves us with the future of the family."

Jessica looked at him. "And you're making it your decision?" she teased, then saw he was serious.

"Well, either mine, or Da's, or Gram's as head of the family."

"Immediate concerns are your mother, sister, and her children - where they will go and how they will make their way. Next is Donna, and Grady, and Frank… and Mither and Margarita," said Taylor softly.

"Your nae worried about the house and the treasure inside of it?" said Willie suddenly. "Tha' could solve most of the problems we have. Find the treasure and then move the family back into the house and live happily ever after."

He saw Jessica and Taylor shaking their heads. "There has been too much death in that place, Husband, for anyone to sleep comfortably."

"I spent the better part of the day reading the old journals with Tipper, and they were very explicit on the information about the house - how large the rooms were, the halls - but there are some places that the space and the measurements don't work out. The author speculated that these areas were solid rock, used to support the estate's many levels. If it was built as I suspect, like a castle, some of those walls would have to be seventeen feet thick," said Jessica. "There really wouldn't be room to have a secret room. But the stained glass window by the main staircase is quite interesting when it comes to regarding that matter."

"Tomorrow is another day to think on it, Aunt Jessica. If you will excuse us, my husband has some _explaining_ to do, in private… We bid you good night."

"What explaining, Wife?" Jessica heard as Taylor led Willie out of the room. She had a fair idea of what it was.

Smiling to herself she went out of the kitchen turning off the light as she went, and saw through the window the shape of the two of them kissing as they went down the path to Gram's house. George would have some explaining of his own to do in private with Jessica if she had her way about it.

Dawn came a bit too brightly and even more early than Jessica would have wanted after the long stressful day that they had before. George had arranged for a van to pick them up and take them to the estate, he was bringing Tipper with him when she was discharged. Tomorrow they would be boarding the plane for their trip home, though Willie and Taylor would be staying on a bit for their honeymoon.

She felt a small hand touch her arm and opened her eyes again. Margarita regarded her under her mop of curly hair. Jessica could see she was already up and dressed and had a piece of toast in her other hand. Sitting up she saw that Donna was just sitting up in her own bed, and was looking down at her feet with a rather greenish complexion. She could tell that she had been crying. Getting up from the bed Jessica moved to the side of her niece and put her arm around the young woman's shoulder.

"Donna, everything will work out," Jessica began.

Donna looked up at her and sniffed. "That's what everyone keeps saying Aunt Jessica. But I'm scared… I love my parents, but they don't have a lot of patience with Frank, and Grady loves them, but I keep seeing his face that he feels as if he is a failure at providing for us. My parents love me, but, well, the last time that I spoke with them, it was going to be a 'problem that they would manage' to take us in, and I know that Grady's blood pressure goes up when dad gets going - I don't know what to do… I really want to be with my Mother during this … this time.. But…"

"I know Grady may have spoken to you about coming to Cabot Cove to live … Donna, it's your choice where you would feel the most comfortable. I'm not going to live forever, and Frank and I knew that of all of our relatives, we would want the house to go to Grady and you. Cabot Cove is a wonderful place to raise children."

"There aren't a lot of jobs for CPA's in Cabot Cove, though, or for event planners."

"I have a feeling something different may become available," Jessica said, giving Donna another hug. "Has Grady ever thought about teaching?"

Donna shook her head as she blew her nose into a scrap of flannel.

Tipper slowly got out of George's car and looked around the outside of the estate. The huge stained glass window was visible from where she stood, and the memory made her sway against George, who put a protective arm around her shoulder to steady her. The others were getting out of the van and she saw Frank hurry over to her and wrap his arms about her body, holding her tightly.

"Hey – it's okay, I'm alright... Thanks," she said, hugging Frank back.

George watched Frank lead Tipper up to the house. For the longest time she stood on the porch and he could see that she was trembling. Taking a breath, she reached in her pocket and held something in it, George didn't know what. He waited until the others had entered, and Tipper had gone in, led by Frank. Closing the door behind him he saw the group had gathered in the main hall.

"Right, well, I believe a through go-over of the house is in order, starting at the attic, and working our way down. The engineers have gone over the house and have informed me that it's sound - apparently the builders expected the methane to blow every once in a while," said George. He was unprepared for the giggles that followed from some of the adults. Even Jessica had a twinkle in her eyes.

"Look!" gasped Donna, pointing to the stained glass window as the sunlight danced over it.

Tipper walked forward to the great staircase and went to the post where Faraday had kissed her. She backed up, and put her hand down. For a moment they saw her gazing at something, then she put her hand in her pocket and walked up the steps to where the white marble ledge was. She removed her hand and placed the worry stone on the ledge then slid it into a depression that was in the marble. There was a resounding click that echoed in the room. Looking behind her she saw that a panel had opened along the stair case.

"Margarita, come here," Tipper called out to the young girl. She saw the child hesitate, but then she walked up the stair case and stood in front of Tipper, who lifted her to the same place where she was sitting in her dream. "It's going to be okay … just stay there," she said to the small child.

Tipper hurried down the steps and went to Taylor. "Before Meg went to prison, she was rambling about enlightenment, and a gathering, and the sword drawing people there … do you remember? What if it was true, but they had the place wrong? What if it's _here?_ The wealth beyond the wildest dreams bit? What if the sacrifice she was talking about was something that was misunderstood all along, and Fordham and Father Dania were killing people on the steps to access the treasure, but didn't have the right sword to do it with? It's just like what was in the journals," she said with a rush.

"Whoa, slow down, Tipper. They were killing them on the steps? Why?" asked Taylor, a bit confused.

"Because it's the altar. They thought they needed blood for the connection - but Kent was greedy, and even if he could have brought the sword back to his father it wouldn't have worked because it wasn't blood that was needed. He didn't have the gathering of the family behind him. He didn't have the support he needed…" Tipper turned to Willie. "Choose wisely," she said as Jessica went to where the panel had popped open and withdrew a large decanter that was filled with a murky white liquid.

Willie took a breath and then unbuckled the sword from his belt and handed it to Toot.

"Son, I canna," said Toot sadly.

"You have only defended the family with it. There is no dishonor in that," Willie said wrapping Toot's hands about it.

Jessica handed Willie the decanter. "There is a slot in the main post that is the right size for the blade of the sword. It shows it in the stained glass window," she said as she pointed upward.

Tipper nodded. "In the dream I had, they were pushing a sword into it."

"But if they did it, why didn't the room open?" Jessica asked. "Surely they could see what we see when we look at the window, and follow it, and as swords go, they are about the same, unless…" Jessica turned and looked at the window again. "Of course … the support of the family."

"The gathering," said Taylor, looking at Willie.

"Pressure switches!" Tipper gasped. Closing her eyes momentarily she grasped Grady's hand and Donna's and led them up the steps to the top. "Stand here… and you stand here…" she directed, placing them on either side of the same step with Frank a step below them with Ian on the other side. Seeing what she was doing, others took their places upon the steps, until there was just Seth, George and Tipper left and a single spot that was left on the step next to Jessica.

"Okay, George…" Tipper began.

George shook his head. "No, you should be there," he said, gently urging her to take her place.

They heard another rather loud click as she took her place on the step.

"Now what?" asked Toot, regarding the line-up of people.

"Pour the liquid into the hole, and then put the sword in," said Jessica.

Willie, who stood behind Toot, opened the decanter and carefully poured the liquid in until it brimmed. Toot took a breath and murmured something under his breath. The sword slid in softly, and there was a third, audible click as it hit the bottom of the pillar. Red came from the base of the pillar, spilling midway across the floor where it disappeared in the cracks of the floor around the center tile of the room. There was a rusty creak as one of the panels of the far wall opened up.

Tipper knew what was in that room. She knew George and Seth couldn't help themselves as they went to the room and George entered into it. "George! Choose wisely!" she called after him. They could see the glimmer of something reflecting from his flashlight and his exclamation of his discovery. There was another loud click - then a cough from George as he came out of the room holding a dusty book. Seth stepped away from the door as it slid shut.

"That's it? That's the treasure people have died for?" asked Pattie, confused. "What else was in the room inspector Sutherland?" she said, regarding him.

George took a breath. "There were other things in the room, coins, and the like, but I noticed something about them … of all the treasures that were in the room, this was the only real item. The gems were paste, and the coins, while looking of value, were not … I had a feeling that I would have just a short amount of time to decided what was to be chosen, and then remove myself from the room, and the book seemed like the only thing that needed to be chosen." He handed the book to Toot, who opened it, and saw the pages were blank.

"Ah well…" said George, sighing.

Toot gave him a smile. "Thank you," he said handing the book to Tipper. "Lass, where would you be wanting the book to go?" he asked gently.

She looked at it. It was the same one that was in her dream, and she placed her hand on it. She could feel the warmth of the book cover, and then she placed the book on the other post that supported the railing. There was a final click as the tile in the center of the room shifted upward, giving a space where fingers could move it away. The flashlight beam caught glitter. George beckoned to the group to come down and have a look for themselves.

Later Frank sat on the steps, looking at the pillar. Jessica saw him and went over to where he was and sat down beside him.

"The gold won't bring Faraday back, or help Mum have a healthy baby. But how did it all work, Aunt Jessica? How did the sword make the room to open? I know about the pressure switches, but - how? George says that red stuff isn't blood."

"No, it's rust. The liquid that was poured into the hole helped to remove the rust, and it had 14% sodium in it, the same as blood, and sea water. The combination of the salt water running past what ever is in the pillar - and my guess is there is a fair bit of metal in there - made an electrical current that switched the doors and mechanisms to open things."

"But greedy people wouldn't think to take the book, and the room would trap them."

"That's right."

He sighed, then saw Tipper coming down the steps. She had been exploring, looking for the room she had awoken in, in her dream. She said there was something else she was looking for, but hadn't been able to find it. Tipper paused and picked up the worry stone and placed it in her pocket. The gold and things had been lifted out of the hole, and the stone put back into place. Walking down the steps she took the stone out of her pocket and placed it on the book.

There was a click. As if in a trance she walked to the wall and pushed aside a panel, revealing a door. It swung open at her touch. The space beyond smelt earthy, sweet, and the light from the flashlights illuminated what she had been searching for.

A room of healing. Beside the desk that had an assortment of things was the chair that was in her dreams, and the crown. She felt a bump, then Margarita went to the chair and sat in it, holding the crown on her lap.

Gram came up behind her and looked in the room. She held the book, and the worry stone. "Aye. Then it's true."

"What is?"

Gram pressed the worry stone into Tipper's hand. "Only kin would keep looking for what was important in their hearts …This is worth more than all the gold they pulled out of the hole. I knew it before by your way with your dreams, what ye see - and that inspector's papers said the same. There are many who were nae recorded to hide them…some who went overseas to hide their wee ones. You have the blood of great healers, of our kin, in ye, daughter. It's why ye dream so, why ye can see the dead, and the angels. Tis how you and Faraday were drawn together, how you were drawn to events that would lead to this moment." Gram went into the room and picked up the crown and placed it on Margarita's head.

Tipper was drawn back by Frank who said to her gently, "Angela? Are you alright?"

He saw tears well up in her eyes as she leaned against the same pillar. The sword had been removed and cleaned, then placed on the wall. She nodded.

"Aunt Jessica is staying on another day or so to settle things with George. Mum and Dad are coming back to Cabot Cove and staying at her house with me until she comes back … they have things to take care of there. Willie says, with everything that's happened today, he needs Dad to manage the accounts. Aunt Sara and her kids are staying with Mither and Margarita, " Frank said breathlessly.

"What about Rosemary?" she said, half curious.

Frank gave her a cheeky grin. "She's moving in with Toot. Willie said that it may be an adjustment for him, she keeps a clean house… guess the goats will have to be moved to the barn. They don't know yet what will be done with the estate. Cleaned and blessed Toot said … Are you hungry? Ian said they are sending out for pizza, and then we have to pack - it's an early flight tomorrow. George is going to see us off… 'course, Gram said you could stay if you wanted, for a while…"

"I just want to go home…"

"Will I be as handsome as Faraday?" he asked her suddenly.

She blinked. "Being handsome isn't what draws the girls, Frank. It wasn't why I fell in love with Faraday. He had a - a love, that was inside him … and you have that too."

"Really? So… there is a chance, then…"

"A chance? Ooohhh… I will always love you as a friend, Frank. Sometimes that's the best of all." She was interrupted by the sound of a horn beeping outside.

"Pizza's here," said Frank, holding his hand out to her. "Coming?" he asked.

Tipper took his hand. For a moment when she stood she saw Faraday looking at her, a smile on his face. She saw him nod, then he vanished. The heaviness in her heart disappeared as well.

"Dibs on mushrooms! " said Tipper, smiling.

"Will you help me write my report?" Frank asked as they walked to where the others were.

Tipper nodded. A glass was pushed into her hands. She looked at it, and then raised it. "To family. May we always believe."

She saw Toot nod, and Willie hug Rosemary. Somehow, Tipper knew, it was just the beginning of something more.

George walked over to Toot, and asked something quietly that caused Toot to place his glass on the table and walk over to an area where they would not be overheard. Jessica stepped next to Tipper, and by her expression Tipper knew the discussion was serious.

"What will happen to Toot, Jessica?"

"Given the circumstances, it's difficult to say, but George feels the courts may understand and remand him time served…"

Cabot Cove never looked so beautiful The sea was crisp, the gulls hung in the air demanding food from the tourists, and even the yelps of the dogs in the back kennels of the "Puppy Paradize" where Lucky and Sydney waited to be claimed by Tipper sounded like joyful music. She stopped in the surgery to pick up her key, and saw a few heads turn.

"Hey, there's the treasure queen!" she heard one of the patrons say. She regarded them, curious, then had a newspaper thrust under her nose. "Could you sign your photograph please?"

"My what?" she said, looking down at what was a fuzzy blob until she moved it far enough to see what she was looking at. The headlines were bold: "CABOT COVE RESIDENTS DISCOVER BOUNTY OF IRISH TREASURE."

"AP network picked up the story from the local media…"

Tipper flipped the paper over and saw a second photo. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm not into autographs..."

She walked into the office with the paper still in her hands, looking at the photograph. She didn't remember the photo being taken; it had to have been when they were gathered to leave, and the swarm of media that came, chiding Willie for not letting them in on it. He'd shrugged and said that Toot was the head of the family now, and it was his decision.

There was a knock on the door, and Carolyn Fahey entered. "Tipper, are you alright?"

Tipper didn't look up from the paper. Carolyn closed the door and knelt beside her friend. "Tipper?"

"His name was Faraday and he was so beautiful…and his kiss was heaven… I still see him, in my dreams…he died in my arms. I - I…he saved my life, but I couldn't save his."

"Oh, Tipper… do you need some more time off?" Carolyn asked softly.

Tipper shook her head. "No, I will be okay."

She saw her friend nod, then stand up" Okay, but, if there is anything you need, let me know," she said as she left the office.

"Just Faraday," Tipper said to herself as she tucked the paper under her arm and went out the back way. She didn't want to be with people yet, but there was a person she needed to be with, someone who she knew would understand what she felt. She found herself walking to Jessica's house, knocking on the door, and seeing Grady.

"Dr. Henderson... We were just going to have dessert, would you like to join us?"

She shook her head. "I was wondering if I could speak with Frank…"

Grady nodded, and watched as the two of them walked down the street hand in hand. It was almost an hour later when Frank returned and sat down in the living room. Grady went into the room and looked at his son. "Is everything alright?"

"It will be, dad… Thanks."

Leaning forward Frank pulled his spiral note book off of the coffee table and picked up a pencil. The summer wasn't even half over. He pulled a coin out of his pocket and regarded the soft gold metal. No one was going to believe him. Replacing the gold in his pocket he began to write.

Lucky padded into the room and nudged his leg before jumping on the sofa next to him. Her warm brown eyes regarded him, asking, "What next?"

"Dunno, Lucky," he said, patting her head. "Just, dunno. Something's bound to happen though…"

TBC…


	28. Chapter 28

_MSW/Jessica Fletcher and the people of Cabot Cove belong to someone else. (Have no money, make no money - written for something to do over the summer.) The character Tipper Henderson belongs to Anne and is used with permission. Willie Mac (& his kin), Taylor (&her kin) and any others that are not of the MSW world were created by my wild plot bunnies and may only be used with direct permission from me. Thanks Anne for being my Beta!_

**Murder by Skullduggery**

_Finished July 24__th__ 2006 © Kats_

Frank looked up from the sofa where he was writing and regarded his mother as she entered into the front parlor of his Aunt Jessica's home. Lucky looked up as well and thumped her tail as Donna sighed and sat across from him. Frank placed the note book on the coffee table and looked up at his mother.

"Honey, it's a beautiful day out there, why aren't you with your friends, maybe riding bikes or something? I know Grady said he was going to take you to all the places he used to play when he comes back from moving everything, but that will be next week and I hate to see you cooped up in here all that time."

"Willie and Taylor are still on their honeymoon, and Tipper is working today, as is Dr. Hazlitt. There isn't far to ride around here on bikes and I - I haven't made any other friends. There hasn't been time. I'm still an outsider, Mom - I'm 'from away.' Besides, I've taken a whole week off of my lessons and I have to catch up with them. I'm not really into playing sports, and anyone who is my age around here is helping on their parents' lobster boats."

"Well, if Willie and Taylor were here, what would you be doing with them?"

"Carding wool, and learning how to weave – it's pretty cool. Mom, are we going to stay here in Cabot Cove? Even though it's quiet, I kinda like it better than the city."

Donna regarded her son. "What exactly do you like the most about Cabot Cove? The people or the seafood?"

Frank shook his head. "Um, I'm not wild about the fishy stuff. Moo is better. I'm learning things here, Mum, real things that, well, they don't teach in school and maybe they should. I'm just a number when I am in the city schools. Here, they know me as Frank Fletcher, son of Grady and Donna Fletcher, great nephew of Jessica Fletcher, and it doesn't matter that Aunt Jessica writes books, they still like to talk about me at Loretta's beauty shop, and its not because I stink at English, its because I am a kid."

"There are other things you can be doing, Frank," she said encouragingly.

"I've already cut the grass, and taken out the trash, and swept the back porch, and clipped off the dead roses, and swept the upstairs, but I didn't clean the bathroom yet…"

"The last time you were this ambitious with helping was just before you came here, and something was bothering you. Does it have anything to do with the discussion you and Tipper had the other day?" Donna inquired.

"No," he said softly.

"Frank? It is, isn't it…?"

"I would rather not talk about it, Mom." His voice became softer.

Donna leaned forward and took his hands into hers. "You know you can tell me anything, honey."

Donna watched the struggle on Frank's face before he spoke in a soft voice. "She hurts inside, Mom. Someone wanted her to autograph the picture that came out in the newspaper, and it had Faraday's picture on there. I remember what it was like to wake up in that place, and I know there are people in this town who probably think Fordham was right all along. I even hated Faraday because he made Tipper laugh, and because she looked at him like that. The way you look at Dad some times. I found myself even liking him later. If I keep doing my homework, and the stuff around the house, then I don't have to think about what happened. I'm eleven and I feel old, Mom. I know you say I can tell you anything, but I can't tell you everything. Not that you would love me less, but because it would upset you and Dad said we have to keep you calmer than normal," he said ruefully. "In a way, I don't want to go back to my old school. I don't fit in there anymore."

A voice called from the kitchen. "Hello?"

Both Frank and Donna straightened up. "Aunt Jessica!" said Frank, springing from the sofa and covering the distance to the kitchen in leaping bounds to embrace her in a long hug.

"Well, my goodness it's only been three days!" she said, returning his hug.

"I've missed you." The door opened and Mort entered carrying someone. Frank goggled. "Ian!" he gasped, softly regarding the sleeping boy over Mort's shoulder.

"In Frank's room, Mrs. F?" Jessica nodded. Frank looked at Jessica quizzically.

"Ian will be staying with us until Taylor and Willie return. They are in Portland attending to some things, and he will be living with them for a while. It's been decided that he will be Willie's apprentice."

"Apprentice? But Aunt Jessica, he's only nine!" gasped Donna.

Frank shrugged. "Willie said he was helping to deliver babies since he was eleven. How come Pattie didn't come too?" he asked, curious.

"Because she is being apprenticed by Gram. Each of them will learn different things, and later Pattie will come here, and Ian will return home."

Frank looked at his mother. "Does this mean Willie will be taking his boards to practice medicine here? He could be your doctor, Mom… I know he could make the baby healthier."

"Honey, I know he is your friend but we've talked about this, and about living with Grandma and Grandpa Mayberry," she said firmly.

"Just give him a chance, Mom! Please!"

Donna struggled with what she was going to say next. She looked into her son's earnest eyes and said softly, "I am sure he is a wonderful doctor, but I don't know him that well, and I don't know if you would understand this, but there are ways that things are done when having a baby. It's very difficult to, well … things are very personal."

"If Willie can help save my baby sister, then you need to get over the personal things, Mom," Frank said evenly. Snagging Ian's bag he carried it upstairs as Mort came down.

Mort looked puzzled between the two women and the upstairs. Donna threw her hands up in the air. "I don't know what to do with him. He loves it here, and your offer is very kind, Aunt Jessica, but - "

"You don't have to explain, Donna - I understand."

Donna closed her eyes. "Is he a good doctor?" she asked Jessica softly.

It was Mort who spoke up as he came down the steps into the room. "I don't know what is going on, Mrs. F, but I can tell you that when Willie first arrived to claim that sword, I ran a check on him. He is one of the foremost authorities on immunology and he heals with herbs and plants. You don't know him, but Taylor's gentleman friend Anthony was in a bad accident, and he nearly died, and Dr. Hazlitt said Willie made a paste that all but cured him. He still has a long way to go, but he is alive. Frank is right - if anything can be done, Willie would be the one to do it."

Donna turned to Jessica and shrugged with her hands in despair. "Aunt Jessica!"

"It's all right, Donna. I understand."

"But you agree with them," Donna said with a sniff. "Does that make me a horrid mother that I won't…?" Donna turned around and went into the parlor where Mort heard her sniffing.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. F. I didn't know it was such a sensitive topic."

"Mort, it's all right. I expect there will be more tears and yelling until things are resolved. It wasn't the peaceful vacation that was planned."

Upstairs Frank ran to the bed where Ian lay and climbed beside him. He was careful not to wake the young boy with his movements, but he couldn't help the tears that came or the gulping sobs that he tried to keep inside of him.

When Jessica looked in on them later she found both of them asleep, wrapped in each others' arms. Sighing, she made her way back downstairs to where Donna was laying down on the sofa with a cold cloth on her head. It had been hard for Sara to agree to allow Ian to come to America, and George had been a tremendous help arranging for his passport to be expedited. Gram had been firm, though, and as the head of the house her decision stood for all of the families involved. Healing needed to be learned, given and shared. There were all types of healing lessons, and it was time for healing in many ways to be done.

She paused and saw Frank's open note book that had fallen off of the end table in the excitement of her arrival. Picking it up she glanced at the scrawled writing and sat down as she began to read what he had written:

"_Week three of my summer. It's hard to know where to begin, when trying to explain what you feel inside. Things you can't tell adults or your friends because either they worry, or they think you're strange. I feel ill inside, remembering, trying to fathom how greed and hatred can ruin people. How we take things for granted, and that there are others who live in such conditions that it makes me ashamed to have so much. To have parents who love me, and family who owns up to being related to me with pride. In all of their love and understanding I know I can't tell them what happened, not all of it. _

_In the middle of celebrating something good and pure, my friends and I were snatched away, and held in a place where others had died. I saw things: things that gave me courage, things I can't explain. Things that others may not have seen, or understand. I think, sometimes, that I am going mad - maybe it was the moment, or the danger that we were in. I knew if I could not find the way to safety, no one would. Sometimes I wish that moments could float away on the breeze and never be seen again. I can't speak of what I feel in my heart, yet I know my friend who was there hurts more than I do. I know that things won't change soon, but I worry about my mum, and my dad, and my Aunt Jessica, that the same people who have done these things would want to hurt them. Or that I would do something, and not know, and it would cause them distress. I am eleven, but I feel old before my time - it's a burden that I can not fathom, it's a guilt that I should not have to bear, but I do… _

_I want to be a kid again. I want to do things to get into trouble because I need a reason to be yelled at, so that I have a reason that can justify my tears, and the horrible feeling that has been a monster inside of me. I know my parents will love me regardless, so I need them to be firm with me, so that I have a reason to yell, and scream, and flail my arms around like windmills and maybe break out of what has been hurting inside of me. But I can't. I can't bring myself to do that because their lives have been up ended as well as mine. They hurt for different reasons, and I can't burden them with what has been stabbing through my heart since then. I know, now, why Willie cried when the storms came. I know why there is a haunting in ones heart… I don't know where I fit any more…"_

Jessica closed the note book and placed it back into his back pack, zipping it closed. She regarded Donna as she slept. She understood why Donna would want to go home during this time. Children grow up, and they learn to find order in their lives. It kept things normal. For Frank and Ian, and she presumed Tipper as well, the recent events had ripped the normal away. Under the best of times victims would require years of counseling. Of course, after growing up in the Mayberry household, Frank might need even more counseling than he did from being kidnapped.

Settling back on the oversized chair Jessica felt her eyes growing heavy. The time difference was going to take a bit to get used to, and she had informed Donna that they would eat after everyone took a nap. It just seemed like a few heartbeats when she woke to the sound of a scream, pots falling and the distinct sound of Donna being ill. Rising from the seat she hurried to the kitchen and saw Donna clinging to the counter. A carton of eggs was tipped over and a few had rolled across the counter. Donna had knocked the frying pan to the floor. Jessica hurried forward to see what was wrong as Donna swayed and retched again.

It was then that Jessica saw the eggs. Every single one of them had things drawn on them. Realistic eyeballs that were bloodshot stared back at her. Some had the words

"Bum Nuts" written on them. One had a set of teeth, another had a boogey nose. One had

"Peep Inside" and another had "U Crack ME UP!" One looked like it had a very realistic worm coming out of it.

Donna straightened up. "FRANK FLETCHER, YOU GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!"

Frank lifted his head up and looked groggily around. Ian was awake. Frank looked at the younger boy and said, "Best you stay put, mate - she's got a full head of steam and there will be a lot of shouting."

Going downstairs he peeked into the kitchen and saw Aunt Jessica was trying to calm Donna down, and Donna snapping at Jessica, "STAY OUT OF THIS!"

Turning, Donna saw Frank in the doorway and started yelling at him. Jessica saw Frank didn't flinch, though he wore a slightly baffled expression on his face until he walked forward to the sink to clean up the mess and saw the eggs. He didn't try to defend himself, he didn't try to calm her down, he just stood there and listened to her as she berated him. He only turned his head when he heard a catch of a sound in the doorway from the upstairs. She was yelling at him to continue to clean it up as she saw him leaving the kitchen.

"YOU GET BACK HERE, YOUNG MAN!" she thundered following him, then came up short as she saw Frank holding Ian as he sobbed.

"I'll take care of this, Mum," Frank said softly. "He is just scared."

Jessica touched Donna on the arm and turned her back to the kitchen. "Donna, the eggs came that way."

"What?" Donna gasped turning back to where she saw Frank comforting the younger boy.

"It's a marketing strategy they have been trying out to increase poultry sales because of the cost of shipping the product up here. I tried to tell you."

"Why didn't he - why did he let me yell at him then?" asked Donna stunned.

Jessica glanced back to the room where the sounds had turned to noisy hiccups. "Because he knew that disagreeing with you would upset you more. I understand things are not going well, Donna, and I know how much you want to get things back to what you can deal with. Sometimes you need to accept the help of others, even if your heart yearns for familiar comforts." Jessica escorted Donna back to the kitchen and into a chair where Donna placed her hands over her face and let out a moan.

"I'm a terrible mother," she said before bursting into tears.

Jessica saw the two boys enter and go to where Donna was sitting. Ian lifted her wrist and began to rub the inside of it gently. "Shhh Mum, tis all right," he said softly. "Come have a lie about until dinner."

Obediently Donna stood and followed him into the front room where he guided her to lie down on the sofa. In a heartbeat with him rubbing her wrist gently, she was asleep. Frank tugged a blanket over her and then the two boys left the room. Ian looked back at Donna for a moment before following Frank and Jessica into the kitchen to help Frank clean things up.

"Tears I understand…the shouting scares me the most. Back home, at the neighbors it was followed by beatings, and screams… and if the Met would come then there would be shootings sometimes through the walls. I didn't know where to go to hide."

Frank scooped the egg mess into Lucky's bowl and called her over. In a few gulps and a whirl of her tail, the mess was gone.

"That wrist thing, where did you learn that?" asked Frank, curious. He saw a far away look in Ian's eyes.

"Mam's been ill with every one of the lot, and Grama Rosemary said Gram used to do it for her. I watched, and when Grama Rosemary was working an' Mam was ill, I would do it and she would settle some. After the crying she did, she'll nae want to eat eggs, or bacon, or things of that nature…"

Jessica came over to the boys. "I will make dinner… Frank, why don't you take Ian outside and show him around? Dinner will be in about half an hour."

Frank checked the clock on the kitchen wall then nodded to Jessica, and borrowing her cane for Ian, the two boys went out the back door. Ian looked at the rose garden and then buried his nose into one and looked up at Frank. "I read about a place like this, that all they grow is flowers … never thought I would live to see the day, though…" His fingers traced the soft petals of one and he breathed in the scent of the rose again.

Taking Ian by the hand Frank led him to the swing and helped him sit on it before sitting down on it himself. "I didn't see much of Ireland, not as much as I guess my teachers would want me to write a report on, but from what I did see, you're in for a bit of a shock while you're here. We have things called 'malls,' that are as big as the village with all sorts of shops, and even the grocery stores can be huge. For the most part people here are nice, but there are some here who still follow Fordham and they don't know any better. Sheriff Metzger is trying to get all of them, but there may be a few that are still hidden. When your leg gets better we can ride bikes about the town. That's Willie and Taylor's house, and over there are the Brayber's. They are nice people. Tipper lives up that way on top of the hill. She has cats. Dr. Hazlitt lives over that way. People don't drive much - they either walk, or do the bike."

He saw Ian stand up and walk to the edge of Jessica's property and look into the yard of Taylor's. "You will be here for the rest of the summer? Will you be returning next summer?" asked Ian.

Letting out a careful breath Frank said softly, "I don't know what's going to happen to us. I'm not particularly chuffed about going to live with Grandma and Grandpa Mayberry. I want to stay here, but I understand Mum wants to be with her family. "

"An' your da lets her get away with tha'? Back home, it was what the man of the house said, an' the women listened." Ian blinked a few times and then looked away.

"Was your dad like that?" asked Frank softly.

"My Da was a good man. He didn't deserve to die like he did in the factory. Mum would have been there too - and even with Grandma Rosemary, we would have been sent to the Orphans' Asylum. The girls would have a chance at being adopted, but, well, I'd be on my own." Ian dragged a design with his foot in the dirt.

"It won't ever come to that now Ian. You have a huge family now."

Frank saw the sadness in Ian's eyes. "It already has happened, me being packed away and shipped here. Gram is 97, she's nae going to be able to teach Pattie very long. Toot's been remanded for the killings, though Inspector George says that's just until the judge signs the papers to release him, an' that could be ages. With the new babe on the way an' Margarita, well, even at Mither's there wasn't enough room for me. Mum wanted a proper raising for me around a man, nae so many women. I keenly miss Pattie, though. Nae used to sleeping without someone else in the room, even if it is a little one."

The porch door opened and Jessica's voice came wafting over to them. "Dinner is ready, boys."

It was later that evening that Donna looked in on them. Ian had nestled next to Frank who had his arm around the sleeping younger boy protectively. He looked up at his mother as she crossed the room and sat on his bedside.

"Frank, I am so sorry…"

"Mom, I love you, but I can't deal with your problems and mine at the same time. I can't even handle the thought of moving in with Grandma and Grandpa Mayberry - I want to hide in a corner and rock myself, or throw up, and I can't breath. I want to scream and throw things. I need to heal inside, Mom. I can't do that if every time I turn around I get hurt with you yelling at me for things beyond my control. I know you don't mean what you say, or the anger that comes out. I think that it's in best interest of our family and my best interest if I stayed here, for good. I ..."

He saw Donna shaking her head, and the look in her eyes. Reaching over he took her hand in his and covered it with his own. "Every day for the longest time, months, you've yelled at Dad, or me, or the landlord, and neither Dad nor I deserve it. 'I'm sorry' doesn't mean anything anymore because tomorrow you will yell, and the next day, and the next day. I can't tell you what to do, Mom. You have to decide, but if all the doctors that you have seen can't make you feel well enough to get through a day without causing the people who love you distress, then it's time to see a different type of doctor, even if it's one that you just talk with."

Frank saw the tears well up in his mother's eyes. "I'm scared, Mom. I love you," he said, sitting up and wrapping his arms about her. "Gabe told me that there are times that we do what is best or what is right and it depends on what is the most important thing. I know its right for you to feel comfortable with the doctors that you know, maybe, though it would be best if you just spoke with Willie. The most important thing is the baby to be born alive, isn't it?"

"Frank, please don't make this any harder than it already is… you don't understand," she said softly.

"Help me understand, then," he said urgently.

"The baby won't be able to breath right, it will probably have many birth defects, and if it does survive, chances are that the baby will be mentally challenged… profoundly…"

"That wouldn't change how we love her," he said, taking his mother's hand. "She could be just fine as well. Just think about it, okay?"

Donna sighed then nodded. Kissing Frank on the cheek, she pushed him back down on the bed and tucked the covers over him. "Goodnight, honey," she said softly.

"'Night, Mom. Mom?… I love you." Frank watched his mother smile as she stood up and stood over the bed.

"I love you too, honey," Donna said, then went out of the room and closed the door.

She found Jessica downstairs still up sitting in the parlor with twin cups of tea on the side board. She picked up the tea cup with trembling hands and regarded the dark hot liquid.

"Frank used to act up. Now he is soft spoken, and considerate, and responsible. He doesn't want to come to my parents' house. What changed him, Aunt Jessica? I used to be able to out think him… now I can't do that. I feel as if I have lost my son in all of this. I've lived my whole life with traffic outside the door, and people who didn't know you and a place where people are still up at ten pm and the sun comes up at a proper hour. He wants me to talk to Willie, and everyone keeps telling me to do that, and I know I have to be the one to make that decision, but …"

"What is your reservation about speaking with him, Donna?" inquired Jessica gently.

There was struggle on the young woman's face. A single tear traced down it.

"Is it about the dreams that you had? When we were in Ireland?"

Jessica saw Donna close her eyes against the memory. _There was pain, greater than Donna had ever had. She heard herself screaming - writhing, to escape it. There was a noise behind her- music that she didn't understand. She felt hands reaching into her body, and looking up she saw Willie's face as he lifted something up from her belly. He bent over and then lifted his head. There was blood on his mouth, blood all over him as she felt her world slip away. _

The same dream had come to her every night even before she had met Willie, even before she had learned she was pregnant. The dream had come to her every night for months, and it was only afterwards that she had a name to put to the face. She had found him kind and gentle, but the memory of the recurring dreams had made her disinclined to consider the thought of seeing him as a doctor. Dreams that she couldn't confide in anyone, only tell the people who had been awakened by her gasps from the nightmares that it was just a bad dream. Considering all that had happened, it wasn't unexpected. There were others, too - other family members who had bad dreams when they were together at the bed and breakfast, but none would talk about them. Tipper's had been the most pronounced, but given the fact she had survived two nightmarish moments it wasn't surprising.

"Donna?" She felt Jessica take her hand in hers. "Are you all right?"

Donna opened her eyes and looked at Jessica. "I'm afraid of him, Aunt Jessica."

"Afraid? How?" Jessica asked, perplexed.

Donna swallowed. Jessica could see the younger woman's hands were trembling as she picked up the tea cup and took a sip then set the cup down on the saucer with a clatter. "He is kind, and sweet and charming, and my son adores him. He has a way about him that people listen to, a charisma that makes people follow him and accept him. A sort of magic… I had the same dream, before I met him. He was in the dreams that I have been having. I… I died in that dream by his hand, Aunt Jessica, and so did my baby… and now everyone is trying to convince me to go to him about the baby, and I can't… I can't."

"Would it help if Seth was there?" inquired Jessica.

Donna shook her head then sniffed back tears. "No. Frank thinks that I should go see a psychiatrist. What should I do?"

For a moment Jessica regarded Donna in silence. "How do _you_ feel about seeing a psychiatrist?" she asked.

Donna studied the pattern of the tea leaves inside the cup awhile before looking up at Jessica.

"I need to speak to Willie - about the baby, and my dreams, don't I?"

Althea Blair strode into Joshua Peabody Memorial Elementary School office briskly and set her briefcase down on the floor as the school secretary finished typing from the list of names the school counselor had provided and glanced up at the young woman.

"Hello, Ms. Blair, is it? " The young woman nodded as the frumpy school secretary extended her hand to her. "Mr. Charles is still away; he was delayed in one of his interviews and is in Portland right now. He is picking up our new vice principal, Mr. Murphy, but he let me know you were arriving sometime today and asked me to fill you in on your duties. Have you found a place to stay? Oh, I'm Kristin, Mrs. Gibby to the kids of course." The older woman stood up and walked around the counter to where Ms. Blair stood and reaching down took the younger woman by the hand to lead her through the school.

"Enrollment is down this year, which is sad of course – it's always nice to see little ones growing up over time. There are still five more weeks of summer left for the students, but it's never enough time to write the lesson plans and prepare for next year. I know Mr. Charles said that you were going to teach 4th grade, but that may be changed to 5th grade if Jake, um, if Mr. Edger takes over the 6th grade, or they may split it - the budget is a bit tighter this year, and while in the past we had one teacher for each subject, the board has decided to have one teacher per grade this year. It cuts out four head teaching positions, though we still need someone to cover the science department two days a week. The state was pretty firm about that. While your little monsters are having their science lesson, you will be helping cover either lunch or recess for the students, depending on the schedule. Oh, here is your classroom. You should know, no contract with the town has been signed that has a budget that is going to work. The increase in the elderly population has decreased the amount of revenue that we can gather. It used to depend on how many children you had going to the school at one time. Even though you're told to go out and buy whatever you need for the projects, there is no money to reimburse you. We're lucky just to have enough paper for the first six weeks. The books are in the storage area, and your students will have lockers 400- 425. Ohhhhh, there he is… There's Jake Edger!" She said softly to Althea, "Don't let him break your heart, dear, he's a horror with women to love."

Althea looked in the direction that Gibby had indicated and felt her heart skip a beat. Jake Edger had peeked from his office by sliding his chair out the door and waved in their direction. Too tall for the chair, his lanky frame sprawled in it. His wavy dark hair was cut short, and his smoldering black eyes were intoxicating even from a distance.

Swallowing, Althea nodded. "I know the type." She saw him unfold his frame and stride down the hall casually until he came to where the two of them were.

"Now, Mrs. Gibby, you're not spreading rumors about me, are you?" he said in a deep mellow voice, flashing a perfect grin in her direction. He turned, regarding Althea. "Hello, Ms. Blair," he said, extending his hand. "It has been a while." Shyly Althea took the offered hand and shook it firmly.

"You know Mr. Edger?" asked Gibby, raising her eyebrows.

"Ms. Blair was one of my students several years ago. One of my top students, one of the three that was able to take my 'Awful Awful Final' and receive a perfect score… How is Al's mother doing?" he asked politely.

Gibby didn't miss the pause in Althea's voice. "She went into remission. I will let her know you asked about her… she always liked you," she said, then thought to herself, "_When no one else would!"_

He regarded Althea as she smiled at something Gibby said to her.

"Well, we will let you get back to your work, Mr. Edger. Now, Ms. Blair, down here we have the art department. If you want to put on any plays with your students, you will need to work with Cynthia Bohen. She has to account for every ounce of crayon that is used – a pity. Some of the students are quite talented, and there are lots of things they could be doing…so _much_… but we are stuck with the basics. I would hope to think that we enable the children to use their imaginations to their fullest potential," she said with a sigh.

"Do you have any applicants in mind for the science teacher position, or will that be added to the curriculum that we will be teaching?"

The older woman sighed. "Well, our last vice principal was the science teacher as well as the physical education teacher, but his heart attack this spring sidelined him and we haven't really been able to fill in with someone who can do everything. It was after that the school board voted to return to having each teacher teach everything - it didn't leave as many holes. Hopefully the person our principal has in mind will accept the position."

Willie Mac exited the brightly lit room and closed the door behind him, shaking his head. He saw Taylor sitting on the uncomfortable studio couch reading a large colorful newspaper. She wore a smirk on her face that widened into a grin as he came towards her. Standing up, she stepped into his arms, giving him a hug.

"Well?" she asked, curious.

"Don't know. Oddest way that I have ever had exams before. Thousands of questions and none of them specific. Three ways to end the exam: two an a half hours pass and the screen goes dark on ye, or if out of all of the questions ye answered enough to pass, or enough that you wouldn't pass. Na a bloody leaf in sight to say, 'Aye, tha' would certainly put hair on his chest.' But the most distracting part about the whole thing was knowing that just outside the door, you were waiting for me…" he said, his voice dropping softly as he pulled her close for a tender kiss.

Taking a breath they parted. She glanced at the clock on the wall. "You were only in there for half an hour. That rules out that you exceeded the time, leaving either you failed - and I can't believe that you would - or that you passed your boards for the State of Maine."

"It's been awhile since I practiced medicine, Wife. Things have changed and a lot of it is different than what I would do. Prescribing bits in tea wasn't on what they had as questions. I was thinking in reverse terms in there - I knew the plants, I knew the way to use them and the chemical, but in there they had the chemical, and then how to use them. It was agony. Pill photographs with numbers and manufactures, knowing the difference between colors to tell the dosage, an' some of the new fangled treatment protocols - an even if I do pass this, it won't make a bit of difference except the letters after my name that I could put on my checks."

"In three months you could take it again, if you wanted to. You don't have to, Husband."

"Gram said as much. If I am to be a proper teacher for Ian, though, I ought to be able to have some practice for him with the real live persons," he said ruefully.

Taylor placed her hand on his chest. "About that… You realize that people may view the apprenticeship as being a bit odd …"

He gave her a curious look. "Odd? Ohhhh. Well. Nae, we won't be starting out with much more than learning the plants first - that takes well over two years before they even learn to take a pulse. Pattie may be present when her mother gives birth, but only since Gram will be the midwife."

"And what will happen when our children are born? Will Ian be there?" Taylor asked, regarding him curiously.

"Wife, I've nae ever delivered triplets. Owing to the possibility of complications, would you be wanting to have the delivery in the hospital, with Seth helping, or somewhere else? If it's at the hospital, nae, Ian would na be able to be present at the birth."

"I don't know. Let's see how today goes, and the months ahead…" She saw the door open and a thin man peek out. She nodded to him, and was a bit surprised when he came out from the room and closed the door, approaching Willie.

"Might I have a moment of your time?" he asked, opening the door on the other side of the hall.

Willie and Taylor entered the room. There was a desk with a large chair behind it, and three in front. He closed the door behind them.

Willie turned to Taylor. "This is Dr. Norris; he is in charge of the licensing testing. Dr. Norris, this is my wife, Taylor."

Taylor saw Dr. Norris give her a once over, then nod. "How do you do?" she asked politely.

Dr. Norris nodded again then indicated they should sit down. "I'm going to be very direct here. I've questions for you, and while the board would feel a hearing may be in order, I would rather clear up anything before the results are posted. Quite frankly, you currently hold the fastest time for taking the exam in the State of Maine. Do you know what that implies?"

Willie raised an eyebrow. "That your testing system is lame-ass backwards. Ye canna know what's wrong with someone from general terminology nor understand what really may be wrong with them without caring for the whole of the body. I've na been fond of the pills under the tongue or down the throat because they are bits of poison that may do more harm than good, but give me the plant and I can tell you how much would do better than what comes from a man who failed the hard work in medical school."

Willie felt a tap on his arm from Taylor. "Yes, Wife?"

"It implies that you had the answers before you took the exam."

"Well, of course I had the answers. Did ye think that I was lollygagging away the years awhile back? An' if I didn't know what I was doing then, I shouldn't a been with a patient in the first place."

Taylor placed her fingertips over Willie's lips. "Husband, he needs to know _how_ you know. How you learned."

"Oh… My Gram is a healer. All my life I have been around the plants that go into the wee pills, an' when I was of age I was sent off to formal learn - I knew, though, most of what they were trying to teach everyone, an' so I spent time in research. I did work in hospitals as a doctor for several years until, well, until I went home and found there had been a great deal of trouble going on. I only applied to take the test today because my wife wished me to be able to practice in your fair state. The outcome doesn't change how I live my life or what I would do with it. I've been told by a young friend of mine that if my name was …" He turned to Taylor – "What is that nonsense word Frank used, Wife?"

"Google," Taylor said, trying to contain herself.

"Aye, that's it. If you would use your computer you could Google my name and see some of the papers that I've written. Imagine my surprise to see that after all this time anyone can take a peek at the thoughts I worked out - all over the world an' nae even be a doctor, though unless you were, or had quite a bit of understanding on the subject, it would be nonsense."

Taylor saw Dr. Norris blink several times. "Is something wrong?" she asked at last.

Dr. Norris leaned forward and looked directly at Willie. "Please explain to me why you took this exam?"

He saw Willie frown. "The same reason why everyone takes it: to be licensed to practice medicine in the State of Maine. I called and made an inquiry and was told the first testing date, and I sent my information in. Was there something that happened that is improper about all of this?"

"Am I to understand that you have already passed exams for the university that you attended?"

"Oh, aye. Top of my class. Top of 'most all of them, come to think about it…" Willie said, puzzling over it.

"I see… Well, thank you for your time - you will be notified by mail of the decision within two weeks. Good day." Dr. Norris stood and held the door open for them.

They heard voices coming down the hallway as they exited the room. Taylor saw Willie's face change from puzzlement to recognition.

"Hullo, Mr. Murphy, what brings you to Portland? Wife, this is Mr. Carol Murphy. He's the vice principal at Frank's school. Mr. Murphy, my wife, Taylor…" Turning to the gray-haired, tall man beside Mr. Murphy Willie extended his hand to him. "I don't believe we have had the pleasure of meeting, sir?"

The tall man took his offered hand and shook it warmly. "Gordon Charles, principal of Joshua Peabody Elementary School in Cabot Cove. The pleasure is all mine; I have heard so much about you. I'd heard you would be here and hoped that I might have a moment of your time - I have come to you today with a proposal. We faced the last term with the loss of our vice principal, Mr. Edwards, who was our phys ed teacher as well as the science teacher for the school. I've been able to convince Mr. Murphy, who I've known since college, to take on the position of the vice principal and phys ed teacher. He recommended you to perhaps take over the position of being the science teacher … from our understanding, your education was directed towards biology, which fits perfectly in our curriculum. It would only take two to three days a week and it would be a tremendous assistance for the community."

Taylor regarded Carol Murphy, who was positively beaming at the idea. She knew from the discussion that she had with Frank that Mr. Murphy was one of the few really good people who believed in the students.

"Mr. Charles, your offer is tremendously kind. I will have to discuss this at length with my wife and will let you know what has been decided. It was lovely to see you again, Mr. Murphy. Gentlemen, good day," Willie said, inclining his head to the men. Placing his hand to the small of her back he escorted her out to the car. He opened the driver side door for her, waited until she got behind the wheel then got into the passenger side and buckled himself in. "I've got to bloody well learn how to drive on the wrong side of the road, don't I?" he asked, frowning as she pulled into an open slot between the cars on the road and began the trip home.

"You could just walk, or ride a bike to the school if you decide to take the job, or take the bus with Ian. He will have to go to school here, you know. Maybe when we are settled in, we can arrange to have him tested to see where he fits into the curriculum. I dare say he may be a few grades ahead… Did Gram say what she thought was going on?" Taylor inquired as Willie looked out over the engine of the car, trying to get used to the movement of the traffic.

"I was small for my age, too… but even Seth noticed how thin he is. Pattie said he gives the little ones most off of his plate, saying he wasn't hungry. She's heavier than he is, and a mite taller too. It's like he stopped growing two years ago. Sara said that was the last time he had new shoes and they still fit, even his clothes are the same. He may need to snuggle up with us until he gets used to having a room by himself… though I don't think Aunt Jessica would mind keeping him just one more night while we are on the box - we are, after all, still on our honeymoon…"

"Mmm, well, I will leave it to you to explain to Sydney why you're in my bed."

"Ah, that says a lot regarding your virtue, Wife," he said, teasing her.

"Yes, it does, and you'd better be prepared, because she's not used to being in a kennel and she may be a bit peeved that you were the reason why."

Frank heard the car pull up to Taylor's house first and happened to glance outside from the windows upstairs as he helped Jessica fold laundry. "It's Willie, and Taylor - she must be hurt, he is carrying her to the door…"

Jessica looked out the window and saw Taylor with her arms around Willie's neck, kissing him as he opened the door then closed it. The blinds wobbled a bit as they dropped into place.

Frank looked back at Jessica, a bit perplexed. "Why wouldn't they come over to get Ian?"

"They will, probably tomorrow. Willie has had a long day, and I expect Taylor is exhausted as well…"

Frank gave Jessica a look. "Uh huh," was all he said.

Jessica pulled the blind down to give them privacy then tossed a sock at Frank. "Come on, only two more baskets to go."

Althea shook the sleep from her mind as she walked up the steps to the apartment that she was renting and gathered the mail that had been pushed through the slot of the door. She knew that Jake taught at that school, knew that in all of the years that she had worked as a teacher, trying to get his attention, that he was a rat when it came to the heart. Sorting through the mail she saw a letter from Al and opened it, dropping all of the other mail onto the table. Al was at the other end of the spectrum. Patent, kind, sweet, he was taking care of his mother, and she had told him she understood. She would wait. He wasn't dashing, though, and he didn't have a clue regarding the effects that a roguish grin had on the heart of a young girl. How even going for a simple cup of coffee could set one's heart a-flutter.

_Dear Thea, _

_I hope that this letter finds you well, and that everything is in order for your new job in Cabot Cove. Mother says hello. She is improving slightly since you last saw her, though there is little hope that the improvements will last long. She said I couldn't possibly abandon her now when she needs me the most. She said you would understand…'_

She sighed as she stuffed the letter back into the envelope without reading the rest. Althea did understand. There were some women who could use guilt to get what they wanted, and Al's mother was one of them. Al had been a classmate of hers; both of them had Jake as a teacher at the same time, and it was only Al's lumbering patience that had prevented Jake's barbed remarks from upsetting the young man. Coffee had led to going to the movies, but all the dreams that followed were just that - dreams.

Glancing around, Althea noticed that half of her boxes still needed to be unpacked. She really was going to do that - sometime or another - it was just that she wasn't sure until that very day if she could face up to Jake, or flee back home to her parents' house and give up being a teacher.

Teaching had been her life's dream. Teaching jobs were far more difficult to get: there were far more teachers exiting the universities than teaching positions. Once in a while the school would have retirements, or someone would move on to a different position. Small schools had very little money, but the dangled offer of housing within a mile of the school with utilities included was an incentive she couldn't resist. She now could offer Al a place to move into - after, of course, his mother died. Althea wondered sometimes if she should worry that Al would perhaps fall in love with the nurse who cared for his mother, and if she should look around herself and find someone to spend the bleak winter hours with… _There is always, Jake, _she thought to herself, smirking. Even if he was twelve years her senior, the age difference wasn't that noticeable.

Guilt worked both ways. Jake owed her more than he could ever pay back, in ways he couldn't ever understand. His departure two years ago from the private school three states away had been unexpected to the staff and students who were reeling over the tragic death of two of their classmates when the raft they had been using overturned during the summer vacation. Jake had been grief-stricken and blamed himself for the accident. He had encouraged the girls to try something new, and being young, without fear, they did. Both had life jackets on, but the autopsy showed they had indeed drowned in the river. Why they didn't have an experienced guide to take them down was unknown. Jake had leant them the equipment, and had instructed them who to contact before they went down.

Althea had seen the looks the girls had given him the day school let out, the hugs he had given them and the quick look in his eyes. She had seen that look before, and known the same hugs. The day she turned twenty-one was the day things changed. He became distant, polite, and was seen taking the two girls out for coffee when he had promised that he would take her out for her first big event - going to celebrate her being twenty-one at the local bar. He hadn't shown, and after two hours of swirling her olives, she decided to walk home. She was in the mood for coffee - she needed something sweet. He never saw her, never looked up to see her standing stunned as his head bent over the table in low discussion with the girls. The accident happened two days later, or rather, their bodies were found two days later. Water deaths were a bit tricky when it came to determining the time someone had died. The caskets had been closed, and in his grief Jake had disappeared up north. Althea was able to follow where he ended up by the subscribing to the peer review circulars that listed job postings. She knew her job was far more important than the feelings lurking in her heart, and she would remain professional no matter what he did, or tried to do.

The slow chug of the lobster boats leaving the harbor at four am woke Taylor. Willie was sleeping peacefully, a slight smile upon his face. There were things to do - unpacking, laundry, go through the refrigerator, the mail and the arrival of Ian. Softly she kissed Willie's lips then swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stretched.

Willie opened his sleepy eyes and glanced up as Taylor rose from the bed and walked out of the bedroom wrapped in her frumpy robe. Her footsteps took her down to the kitchen where he heard the sound of the refrigerator opening and the beep of the answering machine with a woman's voice coming over the speakers. The voice was one that he didn't recognize, but Taylor didn't let the message get past "Hey Ra-" before skipping to the next one. Slipping on his own robe, he walked down the steps and heard the answering machine confirm that she wanted to delete. She was sitting in front of the fridge with the door open and the trash basket to one side. A few moldy carrots were tossed up on the counter "Science experiment?" she asked, curious.

He shook his head. "Who was that on the answering machine?" he asked, picking up the milk carton to give it a shake. The lumps moved inside of it. "Ooohhh, cottage cheese!" he said before dumping it down the sink, followed by water to rinse down the smell.

"Just Jordan."

"Ah… so, you knew what she was going to say without listening to what the message was?"

"Yes. Every time she comes around there is trouble, and it winds up being very expensive, both financially and emotionally for me. It only suits her, and the rest of the time, I don't exist. From the time stamp on the calls they began right after the story broke regarding the discovery of the treasure."

"It might be something else! It sounded as if she called you a dozen times and you don't even see what she has to say."

"Three dozen times. I got tired of being invisible. I became tired of having what I did, what I look like, how I dress, criticized as not being good enough. I could never fall in love with the right person, and nothing I did was good enough. If I said anything regarding her behavior I would be curtly informed not to step on her toes. Jordan could hiccup and everyone would rush her off to the hospital. I worked until I dropped, and it was three weeks in the hospital before she noticed that I hadn't sent her a birthday card. She came into the hospital and began to yell at me because I ruined her perfect birthday. Not to mention that she had forgotten mine for the last eight years… Don't be surprised if she shows up, and when she does, you will be invisible too unless there is something that she wants from you. She is mean-spirited, selfish and self-gratifying, and if people don't stroke her ego there is hell to pay. Just promise me you won't let her into this house."

Willie noticed the small beads of sweat that were forming on Taylor's brow. He slid her chair back and closed the refrigerator door. "That can wait for later, Wife," he said gently, taking her hand in his and escorting her to the sofa where he made her recline. "I'll make a nice cuppa for breakfast, and then we can have a snuggle or two…" he murmured, brushing a stray wisp of her ash blond hair from her cheek.

There was a knock at the back door. "I'll get it," he said, kissing her lips gently. Striding to the back door he pulled the blinds up and saw Tipper standing on the back porch with Sydney in her arms. He opened the door. "Tipper, come in. Would you care to join us in a cuppa? This is a bit unexpected - wasn't the kennel arrangements for another two days? Is something wrong?"

Tipper entered in the kitchen and placed Sydney on the floor. "Sorry for the early hour - I got a call from the kennel at three this morning. There was a raid on a puppy mill upstate and they are moving the dogs and puppies to the kennel for quarantine, so I thought it best that Syd not be exposed to what they may be bringing in. How did your state boards go?"

"Well, I think there is just one more that I have to get through, and then I may well hang up a shingle…though I was approached yesterday by Mr. Charles to be the new science teacher at the elementary school. That would mean more testing, though, and some other paperwork, I am sure."

Tipper nodded. "They tend to test you on everything you might possibly have to teach." There was a faint whirring from her pager on her hip. "Uh, gotta go. I'll take you up on the cuppa later. Welcome back!" she said brightly before heading out the back door.

Willie closed the door and put two mugs in the microwave. It wasn't the most proper of ways to make tea, but it would do. While the unit counted down, he leaned on the counter and began to sort the mail. It went into two piles, bills in one, circulars in the other. Tossing the circulars in the trash he was about to dump the carrots in the bin on top when he saw the corner of an envelope that had missed his sorting. Curious, he plucked it out and flipped it over to see what it was. In neat script he saw just Taylor's name and address, and a post mark from Maryland. He opened up the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper. It took a second for him to glance at the bottom to see who it was from, then another moment to read the contents of the letter. The beep of the microwave jerked him back from his musings.

Folding the letter he pushed it back into the envelope and left it on the counter. Being very careful he dropped two infusers with tea into the cups and dunked them a few time as what he had read worked through his mind. When the tea was done he carried it to where she lay and placed it on the coffee table. She sat up so that he could sit in the corner of the sofa and then laid her head on his chest. His arm went around her waist and his hand rested upon her belly.

"Wife?" he asked softly.

"Yes, Husband?"

"Were you concerned that if you told me about Jordan, I would have invited her to the wedding?"

Taylor drew in a long breath then let it out slowly. "I didn't know, years ago, that what I was feeling in my chest was my body warning me - that my heart couldn't take what she was saying and what she was doing. I used work to escape - she knew she couldn't call there - and she would call at the wee hours of the morning to berate me about things. A photo ran of Anthony escorting me to an awards ceremony and two days later at four am she is telling me that the only reason why he was dating me was out of pity, how old I looked in the photo, how I had let myself go, and how desperate I had to be to think that someone like him would actually like me… I went to the courthouse to speak with him that day about his feelings, and I saw him leaning against the wall speaking to the other District Attorney - she's quite lovely - and he had a smile on his face… and my heart believed what she said, and it broke. The next thing I knew I was in County General Hospital and it was three days later and Gabe is there telling me that he was my new adjunct… After her visit I had a second attack, and I made up my mind that any more contact with her wasn't a good idea." Taylor reached over and snagged a sip of tea, then placed it on the coffee table.

"So, if she decided to come to Cabot Cove for an extended vacation, how would you handle it?"

Taylor looked at him, curious. "Ah, well, the Hill House has vacancies. What makes you think she is coming here?"

It was Willie's turn to take a breath and let it out slowly. "In the mail was a letter, just addressed to you, and I didn't know if it was a bill, or ad, so I opened it … an' she is coming with her son and a few others. She said they would be arriving sometime today. I'm na doubting ye, wife, I just don't know how the two of ye could have come from the same womb and be so different. Ye could have told me about her, and that you didn't want her there before we were married, and I would understand…"

She rolled on the sofa so that she faced him. "I am afraid for our children… I am afraid what may happen if she tries to get her way and I have to get the brunt of it…I can't deal with her any more…"

"Shhh, Wife… You won't have to. I'll take care of things." He saw tears beginning to form in Taylor's eyes.

"I don't want you to get hurt by her…"

"Dearest Wife, there's na much that she could say to me or about me that hasn't already been said. In all the world, though, there was only one who looked past what others saw first, directly to my heart…The most fairest sight my eyes had seen, and that my life took new meaning for." He kissed her gently. "I think today, Wife, you will have a fair bit of resting to do while I play man of the house and wear an apron to do the cooking… if that's alright with you? Then tonight, you may have your way with me…"

Jessica heard the familiar thump-bump of Ian coming down the steps in a hurry as he dragged his small duffle behind him and took it to the door. He was washed and dressed and, she could tell, eager to go over to Taylor's house.

"Whoa, slow down! It's just five - they may not even be up yet! And you haven't had a proper breakfast!" said Donna from the corner of the kitchen.

Ian turned and saw what she was eating, saw the pot on the stove, and shook his head. "Thank ye, no, I ... I'm na all that hungry this morning."

Frank came up behind him rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Don't be daft. Lunch is a long way away, and you don't have to have oatmeal. We have other things to eat, all sorts of cereals and toasts…"

Ian shook his head again. "Wouldn't be right to take more from ye," he said softly. "Nae while there is good food tha' ye made."

Frank guided Ian to a chair and helped him get comfortable. "Let's have a cup of tea," he said, getting the kettle and placing water in it.

Donna was about to say that tea wasn't proper for young boys to have at all, but then she saw Ian nod, and give a sigh. She looked at Jessica, who was studying the interaction between Ian and Frank with concern. Turning, Jessica opened the bread box and withdrew a loaf from within then pulled the toaster from the corner and popped two slices in. While they cooked, she retrieved butter and orange juice. She poured two glasses of the juice and slid it in front of the boys. Leaning over she said softly to them, "Donna can't abide orange juice. I thought she would like it. Could you help me finish up the carton?"

Ian nodded, his nose twitching at the smell that wafted from the toaster. "What is that, Aunt Jessica?" he asked, curious.

"It's cinnamon bread. It goes very well with tea and juice."

His nose twitched again. "Does it now?" He watched fascinated as the toast popped upward. Jessica carefully lifted the hot bread out of the toaster and spread fluffy butter over each slice then cut them into fourths before placing the plate in front of the boys. She put two more slices in the toaster and depressed the button.

Donna watched as Frank placed two of the squares for starters before Ian. Ian studied the bread, then with his fingers tore off a small bit of the bread and placed it in his mouth. He chewed it for a while before taking another bit off the edge. His eyes widened as Jessica slid the next two slices on the plate besides the first ones.

"Oh, ye shouldn't be going to such fuss, Aunt Jessica. This is a plenty," he said, pointing to the half he was working on.

"Well, Mum's gone for thirds on the oatmeal, and Aunt Jessica's had her breakfast, and I can't finish all of that, so you will just have to help eat it," said Frank, trying to keep his voice steady. Ian glanced at the sound of a slurp coming from the corner. Frank and Jessica followed his gaze and were surprised to see Donna lowering her bowl from her lips. There were patches of oatmeal on her face and a milk mustache.

"Would ye care for some cinnamon toast, Aunt Donna?" Ian asked as his hand went to the plate to offer it to her.

Donna gave a shudder. "Noo, noo, noo," she said, waving her free hand. "No thank you. I was never one for cinnamon."

Frank turned back to Ian. "Close your eyes and open your mouth." Puzzled, Ian did as he was told. Frank lifted the piece of cinnamon bread and placed it in Ian's mouth upside down. "Bite down now…" said Frank. He saw Ian's eye brows go up in surprise as he began to chew with increased interest.

"Oh, that's lovely," he said after swallowing. He took a sip of tea then blinked. "You're right, Aunt Jessica, it does go well with the tea." Glancing down Ian saw Frank had slipped the lion's share of the toast onto Ian's plate.

"I've eaten my share, that's yours," Frank said, holding up another corner upside down for Ian to eat.

In short order the breakfast was finished and the dishes cleared away from the table. Frank saw Lucky lift her head as Sydney moved through Taylor's garden. "Ah, Sydney's out, they must be up…"

Ian stood up and went to Jessica. "Thank you, I had a lovely time." Nodding to the others, he gathered his duffle and went out the back door over to Taylor's house. Frank watched from the door as Willie opened the door for him and issued him into the home.

Frank closed the door. For a moment he just stood not moving. When he turned Jessica and Donna saw tears in Frank's eyes. "He is going to die if he doesn't start eating more, isn't he?"

Jessica sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. "We don't know. Willie and Seth are going to do everything they can for him."

"Then with Ian coming here, it isn't to learn about being a healer, is it?" Frank asked, needing to know.

"Oh, yes, Willie will be teaching him everything he can… He is in very good hands, Frank, and I am sure that things will work out," said Jessica, brushing the tears from Frank's eyes. "In the meantime, perhaps you could get changed, and take your mother for a walk down to see how much the docks have changed since she was last here."

Jake Eliot strode past the small tourist shops down to Ye Ole Tyme Mini Mart. Fishing several quarters out of his pocket he approached the pay phones and lifted the receiver. Leaning against the building he turned to watch the people as they strolled along the sidewalks. He heard people calling hello to someone and shifted his interest in that direction. _"__Now there is a dish worth dipping into…" _he mused, watching Tipper enter into the mini mart.

A short, curly haired young man who was oddly dressed nodded as he stepped into the sweet shop that was next door to the mini mart. A younger boy that Jake didn't recognize was helping a ditzy blond past the ice cream shop, scolding her for something - she had chocolate on her face and he was trying to get her to wipe it off as she slurped ice cream from the bottom of her cone.

His eyes panned the crowd and found his mark. Althea was a creature of habit. In the two days that she had been in Cabot Cove it had been simple to follow her morning routine. Early rise, coffee, and then a brisk walk. She was right on time. Glancing at his watch he knew that things were about to become interesting. He hung up the phone and followed Althea a few paces behind her. He knew she would take the short cut across the lower harbor. He was counting on it and ignored the babble of voices behind him.

Feigning surprise he called to her. "Althea! Hey, Althea! Wait up!" He ran ahead of her, blocking her view of the bridge.

She continued walking, forcing him to walk backwards in order to keep in front of her. "I have nothing to say to you, Jake."

"Well, I do. I was a fool, and I am sorry and I love you," he said, grasping her by the shoulders gently, then lowering his head he planted a firm passionate kiss upon her lips as he turned her around in his arms.

She heard a perplexed voice behind her and tried to pull away. "Althea?"

There was a shout of "TIPPER, LOOK OUT!" as Jake slammed into her and she tumbled backwards into Al, who lost his balance and fell against the rail.

The rail didn't hold. Parts of it flew in all directions as he tumbled off the low bridge and into the icy water head first. Jake stood frozen as someone brushed passed him and jumped into the water and pulled Al up to the surface.

"Help him!" gasped Althea as she saw the smaller man struggle to get Al to the side of the bridge.

"Oh my gosh - it's Al!" she said, grabbing Jake by the arm and pushing him to the edge of the bridge.

Sighing, Jake grabbed Al by the jacket and hauled him on to the bridge. The shorter man climbed up out of the water and moved him aside. Jake saw the shorter man tilt Al's head backwards and blow air into the larger man's lungs. Al gave a convulsive jerk, and then water spewed in a gurgle from his mouth.

Mort hurried down the bridge. "One of the shop keepers called it in, the ambulance is on the way," he said, then looked at Tipper. "Dr. Henderson, you are a walking menace. That's four you've manage to up end this week – twenty-three this month alone from the reports I get from the shopkeepers! I'm going to get a flag tagger and attach it to you so people can see you coming! If Willie hadn't have been here, he would have died. Next time someone else may not be so lucky!"

Mort saw Tipper become pale as she bit her bottom lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that I've become such a nuisance…" she said quietly. She stood up, then backed up about to leave them when Frank went to her

"Angela, something is wrong with Mom, she's gone a bit wiggy. Can you help Willie and me get her back to his shop?"

Tipper regarded Donna. Frank had been telling Willie that Donna had eaten four bowls of oatmeal, then two Snickers bars and had almost inhaled a triple scoop ice cream cone when the accident had happened. Donna now sat in silence, just looking at Willie as if she had seen a ghost. Althea had moved to the other side of Al and held his hand in hers. Jake was nowhere to be seen. Tipper nodded, then walked with Frank to Donna and helped her up to her feet.

Mort placed a blanket over Al, and then another over Willie's shoulders as Willie shivered in the brisk morning air. He watched as Tipper and Frank helped Donna to her feet and with the three of them, go off the bridge up the walkway. One of the shopkeepers tried to hand Tipper a grocery bag, but she waved it away.

The ambulance driver brought the gurney from the other direction. Al was mumbling something and the woman beside him informed the ambulance driver that she was riding to the hospital with him. Mort sighed as he dispersed the crowd, then from habit he began to pick up the things that had fallen aside. Not that much of it could be salvaged - the eggs were always a total loss and the milk had leaked everywhere. But the cheese that was in the zip lock bag was okay, albeit, a bit damp. He rescued the can of peaches and noticed something on the bridge as he straightened

.

"Son of a gun…" he muttered. Realizing that the tide was going out and taking the evidence with it, he sighed then removed his shoes, wallet and radio and went into the water, swearing at the bitter cold as he came up. It took a bit to get to the pieces of wood. Making his way back to the bridge he was almost too cold to move to get himself back up onto the safety of the wood. He held up the pieces of wood and regarded the ends. Shivering he picked up his radio and keyed it. "Floyd, I need you to get down here to the causeway bridge in the harbor, ASAP. We have a crime scene here."

Tipper sat with Donna as Willie changed in one of the upper rooms. Frank had been sent up the hill to let Jessica know what happened, and that they would be delayed in their return. She looked up as Willie came down the steps dressed in a white T shirt and blue jeans that were a bit too long in the leg for him. Tipper noticed the shirt fit him across the chest just right. "_Had to run in the family," _she thought. He had something in his hand that he presented to Donna. Tipper could see it was some sort of cracker-type bread. Donna looked at it, and began to nibble on it after thanking him.

Tipper had risen to her feet and was about to slip out when she felt Willie's hand capture hers and pull her back.

"Hang on a tic. I need to speak with you," he said softly.

Tipper looked down at her pager. "Uh, gotta go," she said as she tried to pull away.

Willie didn't let go of her hand. "Angela, it didn't go off. What Mort said…"

"He was right. I should have one of those flags so everyone can avoid me. It's how I met Taylor, did she tell you that? One of the worst days of her life, and I just plowed right over her - twice! The only ones I haven't knocked over in this town are Seth and Jessica. It just happens - has happened all of my life. Even my parents call me Tipper… That young man would have died if you weren't there to save him, and it would be my fault, just ..."

"Like Faraday?" he said gently. He saw her straighten up and look him in the eye.

"Flynn shot Faraday. I just couldn't save him. It would have been my fault just like what Mort said."

Althea paced in the hospital waiting room, wringing her hands with each step. What was Al doing in Cabot Cove? Why hadn't he told her he was coming? She stopped her pacing. The letter. She didn't finish reading it. She smacked herself on the forehead and groaned.

It still didn't explain the timing. Lousy timing. Jake's kiss had left her breathless and wanting more, and it complicated things horridly. Not only her feelings for Al, but on a professional level. There was no way that something like this could happen. Not now. Not now when she thought her life was just coming together.

She heard footsteps, and a nurse entered the waiting room. "Ms. Blair? Your fiancé has been moved to a room. The doctors wish to keep him overnight for observation… you can see him now, Room 230 by the window."

Nodding her thanks, Althea strode down the hall and took the elevator to the second floor. For a moment she paused. Only family was allowed to see someone after they were admitted. Saying that she was his fiancée was not entirely untrue; he _had_ asked her to marry him a few times. Part in jest, then the last time she saw that he was serious, and she couldn't answer. He was always taking care of his mother, and Althea felt suffocated by the woman. She knew that even after his mother died, she would still have the woman's ghost around.

Al lay so very still beneath the covers that Althea could hear the hiss of the O2 tank as his chest rose and fell with every breath. Thanks to the stranger who had pulled him out and done mouth-to-mouth Al had only been without oxygen to his brain a short time. There were serious risks, though, with having seawater, or any water, in the lungs due to infections.

She regarded his scruffy face. Forever trying to grow a beard, it never came in right, but without it, his baby face made him look like a teenager. _"When I find Jake… I'm going to kill him,"_ she thought as she sat on the chair at his bedside and picked up Al's hand. Idly she fished her cell phone from her pocket with her free hand and began to scroll down through the options.

High Tide brought the ringing of a shrill bell and the steady footsteps of people who flocked to the local grill for the 50 cent Cabot Cove's Blueberry Piña Colada. Jake Eliot was one of the throng. Finding himself a quiet spot away from the bar he withdrew his cell phone and began to read the message on the screen. _"Jake Eliot you have a lot of explaining to do, and if it's not to my satisfaction you are so dead."_

He was interrupted by the waitress. "Can I get you a double BPC?" she asked, smiling.

"Make it a triple," he said, smiling at her. He glanced around the bar area and was surprised to see Gibby sitting at the bar nursing a drink. Her eyes met his, and with a nod of his head, his silent invitation was accepted. Gibby slid into the seat across from him as he placed his cell phone on the table beside the salt shakers. The waitress brought his triple and left them with a set of menus.

"I shouldn't be seen with you," she said at last.

"Two co-workers having lunch isn't a crime," he said, flashing her a toothy grin.

"Or having a walk along the docks?" she said under her breath.

His grin froze. "What ever do you mean, Gibby?" he asked, keeping his voice light.

"Ms. Blair is a lovely girl. Sweet, innocent …She deserves better than the likes of you. If you don't stay away from her, it will be your job."

"Althea and I are old friends. Nothing improper has ever happened," he said, waving his hand loftily in the air.

"Did I suggest something improper?" Gibby said sweetly as she took a sip of the purple drink.

"Good heavens, what a suggestion," he said with a forced chuckle, taking a sip at his drink.

Gibby noticed the cell phone tucked to the side. Her eyes flashed with a dark humor as she leaned forward. "Jake, be a dear, won't you? Things have changed since you came. You do realize that, don't you? Just how long do you think it would be before the board discovers the relationship between you two? Ms. Blair has an exemplary record, outstanding actually. Yours … well, they didn't look too closely at it. I am quite sure that the board would be very interested as to how she passed your 'Awful Awful Exam.' You are, after all, a creature of habit…" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frank hurried up the hill. puffing as he came to the street where Jessica lived. "_This comes from being a mouse potato_," he thought. He could see a SUV parked on Taylor's yard and several people milling about, poking at things. Blinking in surprise, he used the front door to go into Jessica's house and found her on the phone.

"Thank you, Andy," she said, then hung up and regarded him.

"Mum's gone wiggy and Willie and Tipper are at the store with her. Who are those people, Aunt Jessica?" he asked, pointing to where they had moved onto the back deck and were looking in the windows as they rapped on the door.

She gave a sigh. "I don't know. I called the Sheriffs Office when they drove up on the yard and began to try to get into the house, but Andy said that Mort was busy investigating a crime on the causeway bridge."

Frank frowned. "That was an accident. Tipper didn't mean to bump into the guy at all."

"She never does. Perhaps you'd better tell me what happened?" she said gently.

Taylor shifted on the bed and handed a chunk of cheese to Ian. She grinned as he wiggled on the bed in time to the music they were listening to with duel headphones. Once in a while Sydney lifted her head and turned it to the door, but a hand signal from Taylor had her lay down on the bed covers again. She watched as he nibbled the cheese. Brunch, she had said, was best taken between the time of breakfast and lunch. _"Small bits now and then will be easier on him than stuffing him like a turkey,"_ Willie had said as he cut the rind off of the cheese and presented it to Sydney. _"I'll do what I can regarding your sister, but I canna fix everything that's between you two, an' before she leaves, it needs to be done. You won't know peace until it is, and ye would have far too many regrets if something did happen." _

Willie regarded Tipper. "What is in your heart right now?" he asked gently.

"That maybe I've worn out my welcome here in Cabot Cove. That maybe I should just pack up and go somewhere else where there are less people for me to knock over. That Mort is right. I am a menace."

"Well, I don't know why you bump about so much. Could be many things, you know - you could have one leg shorter than another, you could have a difficulty with your vision, a blind spot, or a hearing problem, the wee hairs in your ears moving in odd directions at any given moment. Or ye could just be so much in energy that ye haven't ever slowed down. Wearing of flags and thinking of going elsewhere isn't the answer, though. It doesn't change that people respect you and care deeply for you. You have made a difference in people's lives. You have helped them, and their pets, and if you would leave it would be a very sad day for Cabot Cove and for those who love you. Give your heart's feelings a few days to decide, Angela Elizabeth Henderson."

Letting her breath out, she nodded then turned to Donna. "All right… so…what's going on with Donna?"

Willie glanced over at Donna, who was nibbling the crumbs off of the paper. "You tell me. You're a healer, too…and by your laws, I canna practice medicine until I have the final test taken."

"That didn't stop you from helping Taylor…" Tipper said, sending him a sidelong look. She walked over to Donna and sat beside her. "Were they good? Seems to me that your baby decided to have a few snacks today. It's a sign that she's growing, maybe?"

Donna blinked. "I was just hungry all of a sudden. What was that I ate?"

Willie moved to the other side of Donna. "Traveling bread. It keeps a long time, and can fill in for meals when ye have no time to stop. I can make ye more if you want, if they help fill inside."

"Thank you." For a moment Donna sat in silence, looking at Willie. Finally she struggled with what she was going to say and blurted out, "I have been having the oddest dreams… before I even met you… Before I knew I was going to have another baby. It scared me and I couldn't talk about it. It… wasn't until just a while ago that I knew what you were doing in my dream… You were breathing into my baby's mouth, to get air into its lungs. But there was blood on your mouth, and I don't know why that would be… I didn't hear the baby cry…and the dream always ends the same. I … I die. I thought, 'If I go home to my parents, then the dream won't come true.' It's why I didn't want to stay in Cabot Cove, and I am sure you're a wonderful doctor … and everyone says I should just talk to you … I knew I couldn't. Not until today. But, if you know what the dream is, then maybe it won't come out bad. Can you save my baby? I… I know that if there was a choice to be made, I would want my baby to live, and know that I love her more than my own life."

For a moment Tipper watched as Willie picked up Donna's hand and traced a pattern on the back of it. Finally he sighed and looked at her. "There are a few things that may have happened. Rubella - though I know they have said it's been pretty much taken care of in the states, it can still happen, and cause many problems for the baby. I know you do not drink, nor smoke, but your hands and nails tell me that all is not well within your liver and kidneys, and that can cause problems. Last is that perhaps the dates are off - it happens. In which case your baby will need care because of your liver and kidneys, and will be born later, and not sooner. If that is the case, then it explains why all of a sudden you're hungry. The baby is saying, as Tipper says, 'Feed me!' Being so young she canna tell ye what she wants to fill her belly, which is why you seek to eat anything that will stay down. An' we can work on that so your baby is happy and you are kept well."

"My liver and kidneys?" Donna asked, surprised. "One of the doctors said my liver panel was up, but he said it was to be expected, and didn't think anything of it. How do you know without blood work?"

"Oh, your hands tell me. An' your nails, by the shape, and the color, and that they are puffy, an' nae from salt or heat. Your cravings for sweets and your moods tell me your sugar levels are off. A proper diet - an' that means nae more sweets - will help ye feel more up to snuff. The bread is helping already. You feel better?" Willie asked.

He saw Donna think about things for a moment, and then she nodded. "I don't feel so foggy," she said, blinking several times. "Thank you both," she said.

Tipper patted Donna on the arm "Everything will be all right, Donna," she said, reassuring her. "I have to go, or the lads won't be happy with me…"

Willie stood up with her. "Angela, don't pay Mort any mind. He didn't mean it. You know that."

She gave him a brisk nod before going out of the shop. For a moment she just stood where she was watching the sea gulls go by. She felt rooted to the spot, and as the sea air swirled around her she bit her bottom lip. She heard people coming up the street, the sounds of the flags snapping in the wind. She loved Cabot Cove. She stood next to the street sign that said 'no parking' and leaned against it. It had been her home, and she was comfortable here. She would just have to be more careful - that's all.

She looked up the street. She needed cat food for her lads, but she didn't know if she could face the shopkeeper again, and she had just enough to get through tonight for them. She was about to begin walking up to her home when she felt someone bump her from behind. She heard a scream behind her and instinctively reached behind her, pulling the woman who had bumped into her back to the safety of the sidewalk using the 'no parking' sign pole for balance as a car went zooming by.

"Are you alright?" Tipper asked the woman, who was casting fearful glances about herself.

"Yes. Thank you," Gibby said, holding her purse close to her chest. "Yes… I am fine… now…"

"You should watch where you're going," snapped the woman's companion.

Tipper turned to look at him. He seemed familiar but she couldn't recall from where. Tipper found herself looking beyond the man, and saw someone sitting on the bench not far up the street, watching her. Mumbling an apology she walked away from them up the street to where the man was.

"May I join you?" The man nodded. Tipper sat on the bench and kept looking at the dark haired man with a gentle smile for her, biting the bottom of her lip. Finally she blurted, "You look like someone that I saw not long ago - but that was in Ireland, and that would be impossible. You were with a man and a woman. And I loved him …and then he was gone."

"Why would that be impossible?" he asked her softly.

Perhaps it was his tone, or the sincerity in his eyes, but Tipper felt her heart racing in her chest. "Who are you?"

His smile was enigmatic. Before he could answer, Tipper looked up to see the woman that she had pulled from the path of the car walk by with out saying anything. There was no sign of the man, and when Tipper looked back at the person on the bench, he was gone.

Shaken, Tipper stood up and hurried up the hill to her home. She could see her cats through the window following her path as she came to her side door and let herself in. She put the pager on the desk then sat down on her wicker couch. She knew she had a stray package of noodles some where that were ages old, but she just didn't feel like eating just then. She felt a thump on the sofa beside her and heard a plaintive 'Meeewww' as her cat walked across her lap. Hugging Dante to her chest she buried her face into his soft fur and closed her eyes, letting her heart be healed by his rumbling purr.

Willie walked Donna up the street back to Jessica's, and seeing the people still milling about the back, helped her to the front door. Jessica met her there and nodded her thanks to Willie.

Swallowing Willie took a breath then went around the side of the house where the people were. He nodded to them and went to one who was casually smoking and dropping the ash into the tomato plants. He took the cigarette from the man's fingers and put it out in the bird bath.

"Hey!" the young man exclaimed, startled.

"Nasty habit, that… There is no smoking allowed on this street."

"I don't need no gay college pool boy to tell me what or what not to do. Do you know who I am?" the young man said, looking down at Willie.

"More trouble than you're worth, no doubt." said Willie with a smile. "Excuse me," he said, then turned to the group. "I'm nae sure who the lot of ye are, but I am sure that what you're expecting you will nae find here. I would suggest that you seek another location to loiter as it's due to rain shortly and it would be a shame to have your fine clothing soaked."

A tall brassy red head with deep blue eyes strode over to Willie. Her neck was heavy with diamond strands that curled to embrace a 7k emerald cut diamond that hung at a level that most men would be wanting to look at anyway. Her ears held matching solitary diamonds, and each finger on her hand had a collection. Her wrists were garnished as well. She wore Italian leather shoes, crisp white linen pants and a cream silken blouse that fluttered in the brisk air, giving her an ethereal quality.

She hesitated a moment before smiling. "I'm Mrs. Phillips. Perhaps my sister, Rachael Andrews, informed you of our plans to stay with her during our visit to your quaint town?" She gave him a coy flirtatious smile.

Willie's eyebrows rose as he allowed an expression of enlightenment upon his face. "Ah, well, they may well be your plans, Mrs. Phillips, however, you are at the home of Dr. Thaladirith Razanur and his wife, who hold no such plans for any other guests as the spare room is already occupied by someone else. Might I suggest the Lighthouse Bed and Breakfast down the road to the left? The Hill House has become a bit of a dodgy place."

Rain began to hit the deck. Mrs. Phillips stepped under the overhang with Willie and gave an irritated glance over her shoulder. The young man whom Willie had taken the cigarette from walked over to Mrs. Phillips and held out his hand. She handed him the keys and then waited until the others had filed off of the deck before putting her hands on her hips and snarling a half inch from Willies face, "I don't know what game she thinks she is pulling to embarrass me in front of my family and friends but it won't work."

"What did you expect, Jordan?" he asked softly. "Who were you hoping to be embarrassed? Did ye ever think that she may not wish to see you because it is more pain for her than she can take?"

"What would you know? And how dare you call me by my given name!"

"Ah, a wee less than what those give me credit for sometimes. I'm still learning regarding the likes of women, and I canna fathom how the social dynamics of the family structure can be so diverse within the range of siblings. I have to ask, in what manor did you plan to see your sister? Alive and well, I hope?"

"What sort of a question is that?" she asked, confused.

"A valid one. I request your word of honor you will not do or say anything to distress your sister from now on."

"Excuse me?"

"Or, for that matter, anyone who enters into this household as a friend."

"Just who do you think you are?"

He held out his hand. "Dr. Thaladirith Razanur. And my wife is your sister, though she is known here as Taylor."

Willie flicked an eyebrow upward at her expression of shock He caught her lightly by the arm and guided her to the deck chair.

"She's married? Married to you?" she gasped with disbelief. "She never told us she was getting married! Why didn't she tell us? When did this happen? We could have changed our plans and come up for it!"

"Ah, well, it was in Ireland, and things were a bit complicated to say the least."

"But she was in love with Anthony, and they were going to be married … We saw the papers, with them together… Are you after her money?" Jordan said, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously.

Willie chuckled. "No, lass. Nor is she after mine. "

"Not even the family _heirlooms_?" she asked slyly.

Willie blushed. "Ah well… That's between my wife and me, now, isn't it?"

Jordan tilted her head to the side. "I suppose… May I see her?"

"If ye behave, aye." Jordan nodded. Sighing, Willie unlocked the door and then held it open for Jordan. "This way," he said, leading her through the kitchen around to the steps upstairs.

Taylor felt soft warm lips caress hers. Drawing in a breath she opened her eyes and found Willie sitting on the side of the bed, leaning over Ian to kiss her. He tugged off the head set from her ears and then kissed her again. She puzzled for a moment, regarding the t-shirt and jeans. "Your suit?" she asked softly.

"At the shop. How did brunch go?" he asked, looking at Ian as he slept nestled in her arms.

"Better than expected. He loves Mozart," she said with a smile.

Movement in the doorframe caught her attention. Looking down, she saw that Sydney had her ears perked and was regarding the person in the shadows. "Hello, Jordan," she said softly.

Heels clicked across the wood floor, walking around the bed to the side that was free. Jordan sat on the bed and studied her sister and the sleeping child. "Well. Today seems to be full of surprises. I'm told you're married, and that there are many things going on. Do I have the right to know what they are?"

"Only if you're interested…" Taylor replied, keeping the tone of her voice neutral.

Jordan picked up Taylor's hand. "I am…"

"Lets see… Willie takes his Clinicals sometime this week, we don't know when, and then his teaching certification for Maine… Ian will be with us for a while," she said, inclining her head.

"Bit big for an afternoon nap as a seven year old…" Jordan said with a shrug.

"He's nine… and he's dying," said Willie softly.

Jordan looked at Willie. "Why isn't he in a hospital? Or where they care for people like … like that," she stammered.

"It's just as easy to care for one person who dances with the Angel of Death as it is for that person to care for two…or five. Here we know we are surrounded by love, and family. I died twice in the hospital, Jordan. I do not plan to do it a third time - I would rather have my husband at my side."

"They … they said you were fine. To get on with your normal life - and you run away here to this forsaken area …"

"Jordan," Willie said to her. Her head snapped up and looked at him. He saw the acute pain on her face, the glittery tears in her eyes. "Get over it. There will be nae weeping an' wailing in this house over things tha' we can strive to change the outcome for."

Ian stretched, extending his arm to yawn in his sleep. Snuggling closer he opened his eyes sleepily and focused on Jordan. "Hullo," he said in a curious low tone. "You're my Aunt Jordan, aren't you? Your nose is the same as Aunt Taylor's. Oh, Uncle…" he said wobbling to sit up.

"Yes, Ian?" Willie asked as Ian beckoned to him. He tilted his ear to Ian's mouth. _"I'm going to burst soon, uncle - I couldna ask Aunt Taylor to help me get there."_

Willie took a breath and turned around on the bed so his back faced Ian. "Climb up, and hold on…" he said, then as he stood lifting Ian piggy back he said, "Back in a tich," before they went down the steps to the bathroom.

Jordan regarded her sister, the trace of tears gone as quickly as they had come. "What's it like to die? See any bright tunnel lights or Angels? Is this the same rabid rat dog that savagely attacked Joshua?"

Taylor regarded her sister, then lifted her head and tapped her finger to the bed. Sydney came over to Jordan then sat with her nose bent over, sniffing Jordan's hand. She sat back and looked at Taylor, giving a sharp yip. Taylor worked her way into a sitting position. "Back still giving you problems, I see… must be nice to have a doctor who gives you vicodin without question. I used to believe that you were the way you are because of the '_pain and suffering' _you were enduring. That the pills they gave you changed you inside. You were giving as you got and every other word I heard from you was, '_That is not acceptable.' _I did wait - you know, for you to keep your promise. That no matter what you did, you would always be my sister. I loved you without question, without reservation and unconditionally. You want to know what death is like? It's the empty feeling of bitter disappointments. Being invisible to those you love, seeing them from a distance and knowing they have forgotten you long ago. That's death. The only reason why you are here in my house right now is that my husband wished me to have the chance to tell you, and have no regrets."

"So, you made me wait outside with everyone to show me what it feels like to be invisible? To be not heard? And then you have your husband - and might I add that a man who wears women's clothing is a bit … swishy? - dare to tell me what I should or should not do? How dare you!"

""Damnú air!" said Willie's voice behind Jordan, making her jump from fright. "That is quite enough of a visit today. Thank you for coming, Jordan. If we are so inclined to wish to see you again you will be notified in a timely manor." He held out his hand to help her up from the bed then escorted her down the stairs, making sure that the door was well closed before dropping the blinds. He stood at the kitchen window watching her make her way to the waiting SUV where she climbed in to the passenger side and brushed the rain from her hair. The SUV went into reverse and backed into the street before speeding off, sending chunks of lawn everywhere.

Willie let out a breath that he realized he had been holding. Sighing, he went onto the back porch with a small tin can and began picking up the cigarette butts that had been tossed about the yard and ground into the potted plants that lined the back porch. As he rounded the back end of the porch he noticed for the first time that the seedlings he had labored to get started had been knocked over and stepped on.

"Damnú Damnú air," he gasped as he carefully began picking the plants up and tried to save as much of the top soil as possible as he slid them back into the pots. Then he placed them back under the shelter he had rigged up to keep the worst of the rain off of them, yet still allow the air to circulate. He found a miniature rose that had been crushed and ground into the dirt. Sitting on the back steps away from the door he held the crushed rose in his hands. Tears came mixing with the rain as he tried to find some viable part of the plant that could be saved. As best as he could he filled the pot with dirt, placed what remained in the earthen pot, then held it to his chest as he kept his sobs as soft as possible. He didn't care if the rain soaked him, or the wind drove the warmth from his body. He couldn't move from where he sat as he looked around the devastation. They were just odd plants to some, weeds to others. To Willie, they were the beginning of his healing garden, and perhaps the last chance that he might have to save Ian. Crushed down by careless, spiteful people.

At first Mort didn't recognize who sat on the steps when he walked around the back of the house. He had already taken plaster casts of the tire marks on the front yard. The piles of dirt that littered the back yard told him more. He knew what the plants were, and what they meant. Willie had entrusted him with their care when they had gone to Ireland. He'd gotten a fair few foot prints along with the tire treads. Going back to the cruiser Mort sat down and keyed the mike, sending a message to Andy. Getting out of the car again he dodged the rain and went to where Willie sat and placed his hand on his shoulder.

"Willie?" he asked softly.

Looking up through puffy eyes, Willie focused on Mort. "I didna understand, before. Now I do. Taylor said every time Jordan comes around, it costs her… I didna understand… if I had na been saving that man's life, I could ha stopped them from doing this wanton act. Now even Ian will suffer for it as well."

"This morning, what happened - what do you remember about the bridge?"

"That? Frank was telling us Donna was eating everything in sight and looking for more, an' the people in front of us stopped all of a sudden - Tipper bumped into them. I didna know why they fell over as they did, it was hardly just a wee bump, and then the other went through the rail, and I went in after him. You weren't the kindest to her you could ha been, after wha' she's been through."

Mort looked at Willie curiously. "Granted, she was shook up about it - but she's a walking cyclone, wrecking a path …" Mort saw Willie close his eyes. "She was a bridesmaid at a wedding and went on a treasure hunt and was able to figure out where the treasure was - what's the big deal with that?"

Mort saw Willie press his eyes tighter and saw tears coming again. "I don't have it in my heart right now to discuss that, Mort… Ye should know, though, she's deciding to leave Cabot Cove because of your words. I know you don't mean them, nae in your soul - if ye do, your na the type of man I would want to know."

There was a moment when Mort was about to argue the point, then realized that Willie was feeling abject misery. "Let's get you into the house and warmed up…" Mort said, gently helping Willie up. Carefully he placed the miniature rose under one of the slatted tables on the porch where it would be sheltered from the worst of the rain and guided Willie inside. He could feel Willie shivering violently. Ian wobbled out of the front room and regarded him before placing his hand on Willie's forehead.

"Get his things off, he canna stay in wets," said Ian, taking command of the situation. He wobbled to the dining room where he found a basket of clean laundry and snagged two blankets and something for Willie to wear. He wobbled back to the kitchen, and Mort heard the beeping of the microwave being programmed. When he returned Mort had Willie tucked onto the sofa.

Willie's hands shook as he held the mug to his lips. "Thank ye, lad," he said softly, taking another sip of the tea.

Regarding the two of them, Mort sighed. "I have some things to do. If you need anything, let me know."

Ian nodded, then escorted Mort to the door. "Thank ye, Sheriff, for your kindness."

Mort nodded to Ian, then strode across the back porch through the gate to the back door of Jessica's house. He was surprised to see Jessica answer the door, and even more surprised when she pushed him backwards onto the porch and closed the door of the house.

"What took you so long, Mort? Did you see what they did to Willie's herbs? They were drop kicking them across the yard! I called the station three times! Where were you?"

"Whoa, slow down. Someone cut every third timber on the railing posts for the causeway bridge over the harbor. I made a judgment based on what I had been told - I am painfully aware of the damage done to those plants, and steps will be taken. Hell, I can't say anything to make things right again. What I need now are answers, Mrs. Fletcher, regarding what happened while you all were away. What is going on? I know weddings are stressful, but according to the reports in the paper everyone should have had a wonderful time. What happened that I should know about?"

Jessica sighed then moved to the oversized white wicker chair and indicated that Mort should sit down.

"Well, George was able to locate Willie's mother, and bring them to where we were staying. You've met Ian. Things started happening, Mort. Frank, Ian and Tipper were kidnapped - Ian's leg was broken in the process - and they were thrown down into a dreadful place under the estate. Frank managed to figure a way out, and just as Willie, Faraday and George were heading in to rescue them they ended up bringing Fordham Sr. out before the explosion. Willie saved his life. He had been poisoned - and I had a hunch who was responsible. The next day we went back, and discovered that Flynn, Faraday's stepfather, was the one who had kidnapped them, and poisoned Fordham Sr. I confronted him, Flynn went to shoot Tipper, and Faraday saved her life."

Jessica stopped speaking. Mort could see the tears welling up in her eyes. "This doesn't have a happy ending, does it?" he asked softly.

"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "The bullet traveled through both lungs, and clipped an artery. There was nothing they could have done to save him."

"How was she after?" he asked, curious. He watched as Jessica regarded her wedding band - something that he had never seen her remove.

"Tipper had a series of nightmares; one caused her to sleepwalk during the midday. She fell down some steps, and her heart stopped. Willie and Seth were able to revive her. Then the old parish priest who murdered Flynn and Fordham Sr. tried to kill her when she was in the hospital. After that - she still had dreams, but they were different. It affected her, Mort. It affected all of them. She's put up a wall again – but those who meet her casually wouldn't notice any difference. Frank feels as if he is going mad inside from everything."

"What about Ian?" Mort inquired, directing a nod to Taylor's house.

"I don't think he has the physical energy to deal with thinking about it. In cases like his, the mental processes slow, so that it all becomes just the task to survive. He took it upon himself to make sure his sisters and mother had enough food by doing without for himself. They made the decision to bring him here to break that cycle - they knew that with him staying, he would fall into the same pattern, and even with plenty of food not live to see his 10th birthday next month. "

Mort gently wrapped his hand around Jessica's. Their fingers intertwined. "And you?"

Jessica was about to brush off his concern. "I won't deny that the memories of the events haven't interrupted my sleep upon more than one occasion. George was a tremendous help, though…"

She saw Mort look at her a bit oddly. "Why would Inspector Sutherland be with you at night?" His question caught her off guard causing her to blush deeply and avert her eyes from his scrutiny. A thought crossed his mind, one that he was going to dismiss but as her blush deepened he gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry, that's none of my concern. I… I just thought that with Seth there, he would be the one… to help… be there, at night."

It was Jessica's turn to look at Mort oddly. "Seth? We're just friends," she said, a bit confused. She saw Mort look at her with something akin to satisfaction of knowing something, discovering something that she in all of her years of uncovering the truth hadn't realized. His thumb played across the back of her hand as his eyebrows arched upward, watching the realization occur.

"In love, with me?" she asked Mort in a whisper, afraid to say it any louder lest it become a statement of fact instead of suppositions. She saw Mort regard her tenderly. "Why didn't he say anything?"

"Because he's stubborn. It took him years to admit it to himself and longer to accept that he wanted you to be happy with whomever you decide to care for. I just thought, given the events of the moment, of the wedding, that - well, more than one romance can happen under the given circumstances, and that it would be Seth. It makes sense now, with the looks George and you were exchanging last time he was here - like two teenagers."

"Did you dismiss the notion because of our ages?" she asked curiously.

Shaking his head Mort said ruefully, "No, because of your respectability. It would be like accepting that Dr. Henderson would be the type to wear a black strapless beer dress and dance on tables at bars."

"Yet, it's easier to accept that Tipper is responsible for bumping over half of the population of Cabot Cove? Frank told me about what you said to her on the bridge. I spoke with Seth, and he didn't have any reports of injuries at all except for the one today that was connected to her."

"Why would someone make up something like that?" Mort inquired, puzzled.

Jessica shrugged and shook her head. She was about to answer when Frank opened the door and came out onto the back porch.

"Aunt Jessica… may I go to Tipper's? I'm worried about her. I could use the bike to get there. I .. I just feel that something very bad is going to happen…"

Jessica thought for a moment to reassure Frank that everything was fine with the young vet - but the closeness that had formed between the two - the bonds of friendship - told her that he might well be more sensitive to her moods than one would realize.

Mort spoke up, interrupting her thoughts. "I'm heading up there shortly. I have to speak with her regarding the case…"

He saw something in Frank's eyes - something bordering on defiance, the same look of protectiveness for her that he had seen in Seth's eyes when discussing Jessica and George. A flicker that said that if Mort hurt her, he would have to answer to Frank. "If anything is wrong, you will be the first to know," he said quickly. He saw Frank had noticed that he was holding Jessica's hand in his. "Thank you, Jessica," he said, leaning over to give her cheek a quick kiss as he squeezed her hand gently.

Mort opened the passenger side of his cruiser and extracted two bags of groceries. It wasn't hard to go back down to the mini mart and make inquiries regarding what she had purchased, and he knew that it would be the talk of Loretta's Beauty Shop that he had put the grocery bill for her on his tab.

Juggling the two bags and holding them a bit higher to save his back he navigated down the walkway to her home and knocked on the door. He noticed a few things as he stood there - one, carrying the bags in close approximation to how he had witnessed Tipper carrying them, it was pretty easy to be thrown off balance. The second thing was how quiet her home seemed, and that there were two cats regarding him from the window. He wasn't fond of cats. One of them gave a soundless meow as he waited, and knocked again. Not getting any answer, Mort balanced the bags one more time and tried the door knob. No one locked their doors in Cabot Cove, and Tipper's door was unlocked as well.

He remembered briefly being in her home years ago when he had called upon her to help with the Nightshade case. Placing the bags on the counter, he shooed the cats away from the fresh meat. Glancing about he noticed she had a large refrigerator and a smaller, four foot high one sitting on the counter top. Opened her larger fridge he could see that it was divided in two sections: one side was empty, and on the other side the top two shelves had various containers with writing on top of them. He noted with interest that on her shelves she had two cans of mushroom soup that were outdated years ago, and a small box of dog biscuits.

It took only a moment to place the food in the larger fridge. Folding the empty bags he placed them in the space between the wall and the fridge. Curiosity got the better of him as he reopened the fridge door and took a peek at the writing on the containers. He didn't know what to expect - pot roast, perhaps - but to his surprise he found a partial name, and a series of numbers. LAB-HRTAUTPSY. Cracking the lid, he peeked in. There was a clear fluid that smelt familiar, though he couldn't name it until he gave the container a swirl and saw something that made him close the lid quickly and seal it again. Blinking, he opened the smaller unit and saw her regular food in it. Shaking his head he removed the food from the larger unit and placed it in the smaller unit.

"Nothing like bringing your work home with you," he said, noticing the focusing microscope on her kitchen table alongside a clean dissecting kit.

Walking through her kitchen he found himself in the living room. There was no sign of Tipper, but on the coffee table there was an open thick envelope that bore several stamps from Ireland. Picking the pictures up he flipped through them - they were, as expected, wedding photos that showed the bridal party, and the dancing and celebration that followed. There were several shots of Tipper in the arms of a handsome man, including a few of them gazing into each other's eyes. Mort realized the man was the same as he had seen in the paper. "Faraday," he murmured to himself.

A thud from upstairs jolted Mort from his reflection. He replaced the photos and put them back down on the coffee table before starting up the steep "stairs of death" to the second floor of Tipper's house. There was another sound as he came to the top of the steep steps. A catch of a sob. She didn't hear the quiet knock on the door as he stepped into the room. What he saw made him catch his breath. It wasn't black - it was red and clung to every curve until it ended just below the legal limit. Her back was to him and he could see that she was struggling to pull the zipper up in the back. The progress was halted by the sobs that came from her. In two steps he was in the room and with a quick hand he took the zipper from her, tugging it upward. She gasped, whirling around in his arms to face him.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, brushing the tears from her face.

"Delivering the groceries you left behind…" he said.

"You didn't need to do that, I wasn't going to cook tonight anyway…" she said, composing herself. She saw Mort look at her akin to the way her father would have if he had seen her in that dress. "Why are you here?" she demanded again.

"I am looking for answers, Dr. Henderson," he said, trying to keep his tone professional.

"Haven't you made up your mind regarding what a klutz I am already?" she snapped, pulling away from him to walk across the room to her dresser, where she fumbled with her earrings.

"About that…"

"Well - you don't need to concern yourself with it, Sheriff. I've sent my resignation in to the clinic, and I've taken an offer upstate. I won't be plowing over hapless tourists any more," she said, picking up a small red purse that matched her shoes to hunt for her car keys.

Mort's hand covered hers as she extracted the keys. "You're not in any condition to drive, Dr. Henderson."

"Don't be silly. I'm fine. And I would thank you to remove yourself from my bedroom," she said, trying to tug the keys from him.

"This is not going to bring Faraday back!"

Tipper kicked Mort in the shins and snatched the keys from his hand, wobbling on her high heels as she strode to the door. Mort was two steps behind her - as she started down the steep stairs he noticed someone standing at the bottom of the steps. Reaching forward, he pulled her back towards him as her foot twisted in her shoe, pitching her forward. For a moment his left hand grasped air but his right hand felt her thin arm beneath his fingers. He knew he had given her one heck of a bruise as he hauled her back up the steps. Mort could see her chest moving convulsively, gasping for air. Glancing down the stairway again as he wrapped his arms about her he saw the man at the bottom of the steps incline his head before disappearing into the shadows. Her knees buckled and together they sat on the top landing with her cradled in his arms.

A sob broke from her. "Damn you. Why didn't you let me go?" she asked, gulping for air.

"I was told not to," he said softly.

Drawing in a breath he took her keys that she still had in her hand, placing them into his pocket. Shifting her to one side he stood up and went into her bedroom to return with a bundle of clothes rolled up with a pair of her shoes on top. He went down the steps first. "Come on," he said, taking her hand in his and pulling her forward.

She winced as she stood up on her twisted ankle. "Where are we going?" she asked, using him as support to make it down the steep staircase.

"Well, you have a choice: either the jail for assaulting an officer…" he said with a hint of mock humor.

"You were in my bedroom unasked!"

"… or someplace where we can get this worked out once and for all." He saw she was wobbling as she walked. Thrusting the cloths and shoes in her hands he sighed, then swept her off of her feet. Instinctively her arms wrapped about his neck clinging for dear life.

Althea regarded her cell phone with a grimace of incredulous suspicions. Jake had texted her back, pleading his innocence in what had happened and saying he needed to speak with her as soon as possible. She glanced over at Al. He was going to be okay, they said. She bent over and kissed his forehead.

"I have to go, and get things straighten out," she said softly. She sighed. At least at the school there would be other teachers there - though she really didn't want to run into any of them just yet. She had noticed that Joshua Peabody didn't have security cameras, and they were pretty lax about having people sign in and out. She walked to the nurse's desk and waited as an older doctor with white hair answered his page.

"Dr. Hazlitt speaking… Yes?" He sighed as he listened to the rushed explanation on the other end of the phone. "I expected as much. Yes, I can be there shortly…" Seth sighed again as he hung up the phone.

"Excuse me, could you tell me where the cafeteria is? It's been a long day…"

"Down the elevator to the ground floor, make a left," Seth said, trying not to grumble. The signs for it were clearly marked on the wall for visitors.

She nodded, thanking him before catching the next elevator down. Seth picked up the phone and began to dial. As it rang, he noticed that the elevator stopped on the first floor for an extended time before coming back up with several doctors.

"Must be looking for the ATM," he mused. He had no idea why they didn't just put the two of them together, unless it was because of accessibility. Part boredom, part curiosity, he saw that none of the elevators went down to the ground floor.

There was a crisp "Yes?" from the Ward Nurse.

"Cici, I've an emergency that I need to tend to- one of my patients …" Seth stopped and sat down. She heard the catch in his voice. "I have to go and see to her, Cici - can you have Dr. Bradley just keep an eye on things until the next shift comes on in an hour, please?… No… she's… she's in police custody right now… Thank you…"

Seth put the phone down. It took a moment for his heart to stop bounding in his chest. Mort had been brief - he had placed Tipper in the back of the cruiser and standing outside the car, used his cell phone to call him at the hospital. _"….if I hadn't been there she would have died, Seth. I'm taking her to Jessica's, and I need some medical back up to know what to do with her. Something is very wrong… and I don't want to make this official unless necessary."_

Walking to his car he fumbled for his keys out of his pocket and dropped them three times before he managed to get them into the lock. Once the door was opened he dropped them again when he pulled them out, and then dropped them again onto the floor mat.

When he sat up, he placed the keys into the ignition. He was about to start the card when a small wren landed on his hood and hopped up to regard him through the glass. It lifted its head and broke into song. Mesmerized, Seth watched the tiny bird. Ruth loved birds of all types, welcoming even the common sparrow into the yard. He listened to it for about half a minute before it was interrupted by the screech of tires and a taxi racing through the parking lot swerved and nearly struck his car before it swept out of the exit and onto the highway. He turned and saw the passenger was a woman. Sighing, he shook his head, then saw the little bird still regarding him, having hunched down while the taxi had passed by.

Seth drew in a breath. "Thank you," he said to the little bird. It chirped, and flew off in a flurry of wings. He knew if he hadn't have stopped to listen to the little bird that the taxi would not have stopped for him.

Jordan strode across the wooden planks at the small bar and grill and sat down on the chairs overlooking the water with her family. Her son Joshua was ripping apart his lobster and waving the claws about like antenna while a cigarette hung from his mouth. Her husband Gene didn't say much. Not that she would let him get a word in edgewise when it was something she wanted her way. She had married him young, and they had worked hard for what they had so that their son would have the best of everything. He had talent and looks and *the smile* - he could sell holy water to the devil and have the devil like it.

His charm hadn't been very helpful, though, when they were at the Lighthouse. They were informed that they only had two rooms, and that they would have to share. All hell broke loose when Jordan informed him that was unacceptable. The manager withdrew the rooms, apologized and then sent them on their way. Three other B&Bs that had shown 'vacancy' signs had 'NO vacancy' when they drove back through town. They were at one of the smaller B&Bs in the heart of town. They were basic over-priced rooms with tiny beds and they wanted a cash deposit for the first night. There was a small common living room, no tv's in the rooms and a pay phone in the hall. There was a shared bath area on the floor they were on, but, they didn't realize it until they had placed their luggage in the rooms. There was no other place to go. Belatedly they learned the Lighthouse B & B's rooms were suites, and they would have had better accommodations than what they had now.

They had walked across the street to the bar and grill, and demanded the best table in the house. The waitress had given her a funny look then escorted them to the outside deck where they had an uninterrupted panoramic view of the harbor. The service was excellent. Their lobster took exactly 13 minutes to cook, the order was taken properly and delivered precisely. Because of serving restrictions they had to go inside if they wanted drinks, but that was no problem. The problem came when every time their cell phones rang, a ship's horn sounded nearby. In order to hear what the person was saying they had to go inside to the bar area.

Jordan had just returned from one such call. She had to take off her diamond earring to use her cell phone, and knowing that she had several more calls that would be coming, she removed both and briefly placed them on the bar beside her purse on a napkin. She saw a tall, handsome man with dark curly hair and deeper eyes regard her. He had bought her a drink while she waited for information and gallantly kissed her hand before she left, his other hand closing about the napkin on the bar beside her.

"Don't forget these," he said, giving her the napkin with one of the earrings peeking out from the folds. She thanked him, then taking her drink, she rejoined her family.

Jake waited until she was outside before slipping his hand into his pocket and striding from the bar. He wasn't greedy. Well, he was, but he knew that it was easier to have one diamond reset than a pair where they would attract notice. He nodded to the barmaid who flashed him a grin. The town knew that Jake hated to cook, and that it was easier for him to eat out when possible, or have someone cook for him. He went to the parking lot and slipped behind the wheel of his Mercedes.

The school. Common, safe ground where he could finish what he started. Gibby had asked him to move the things from the storage room to the upstairs science room so the new teacher could take stock in what he had to work with. He was the only male teacher, but rather than use the female teachers who could get hurt lifting, he was called. He did mind. Using people was his prerogative, not hers. But as Gibby had pointed out, by doing helpful things the school board tended to look the other way. His black car pulled smoothly into its spot as he noticed a taxi driving away at high speed. It could only be Althea …

Gibby had already put her to work sorting things, and flashed Jake a knowing glance as he strode into the class room. There were some others who were there as well - not the quiet moment that he wanted, but that could wait. He could see Althea was beginning to work up part of her famous temper. She hadn't lifted or sorted anything, and it didn't look like she was going to. Realization had sunk in: Jake had suckered her in once again. Leaving now would look bad for her if she wanted the other teachers to help her in the future. She knew she had informed the taxi to be back in an hour, but the one driver who seemed to be on call had terrified her with the way he drove with no hands as he waved them to emphases his point. She doubted that he would return due to the distance he would have to take to where she waited - it was much easier for him to pick up one way fares from the B& Bs in town.

Jake looked over the boxes of chemicals. Some of them were so old that they were eating through their corks. Some of the labels had faded. It was impossible to know, without a science degree, what was good or bad. Jake sighed. "Gibby, you could have said something before. We really shouldn't let anything be used from this stuff. We have no idea what's in some of these bottles, and if there has been contamination…"

"What do you suggest, Mr. Eliot?" Gibby asked, regarding how he kept looking at Althea. She had crossed her arms and was tapping her foot.

"Well, the safest thing would be to dispose of them and get fresh, and I know THAT was in the budget because every student pays a 25$ lab fee every semester if they want to take chemistry. There should be a _lot_ of money earmarked for that because these haven't been replaced since then … and it looks like all the beakers are there, as well as functional Bunsen burners. We could just dump the stuff…" he said, waving a hand to the sink.

"Oh, no you can't," snapped Althea. "I know Chemistry was never one of your strong points!" she said with a grin to diffuse the look Gibby was giving her. "The simplest way to legally dispose of them is to take them to the nearest pharmacy, and let them do it… they may be able to get the chemicals that we need faster, and without going through InSchool Chemical. We did that at the previous school where I worked," Althea said, pointing to the label on the bottle.

"Well, since you know exactly what needs to be done with them, Ms. Blair, why don't you take charge of the project?" said Jake with a tight smile.

She shrugged as her smile widened. "Sorry, my car is parked in town, and I will be picked up by a taxi shortly. I thought there was an emergency here, not a clean up in aisle 5. And according to my contract, I am not even being PAID until next week!."

"Alright, uncle… Well, at least could you help me carry them to my car?" he said pointedly.

She raised her eyebrow, noticing that Gibby was watching their interaction with curiosity.

"Why of course, Mr. Eliot…" she said, this time with a sweet smile. She took the box that had just a few half empty items in it. "_And I would be happy to dump it in your back seat!"_ she thought, smirking to herself. Most of the boxes fit in the trunk. At Althea's insistence, the bottles containing liquid would ride up front with Jake. Some of them tipped slightly, spilling stuff that smelt like cat vomit over his leather seats.

"OOPS!" she said, smirking and giving the bottles a good tight twist of the caps. She extracted one of the hand wipes used when one ate lobster from the ash tray area that Jake had snagged from the bar & grill. She was very careful to remove every little bit off of her hands as he carried the last of the boxes to be placed in the trunk. As he slammed the trunk shut she saw something roll out from under the seat in the back. Curious, she picked it up. The bottle was almost full, but the top seal had been cracked. She sighed. Leave it to Jake to have a party on wheels. He had never changed.

Glancing up she heard the beep from the impatient taxi driver who, to her relief, had returned. Waving to Gibby, she got into the taxi and was whisked away into the afternoon.

Jake saw Gibby grinning as he came around to the driver's side of his car. "Cripes! Wha- ?" he gasped, waving away the stench and groaning at the permanent stain on his soft leather seat.

"Oh don't be a wuss!" she said, reaching in his coat pocket and pulling out the breath freshener she knew was there. Sticking her arm in the car she gave the spot a few blasts with the breath freshener then stuck it back into his pocket. "I wouldn't wear that - the sleeve would probably stain when you drive."

Sighing, he took his jacket off and tossed it in the back seat. Snagging him by the tie she pulled him to her. "Don't get any ideas, Jake… good or bad…"

Jordan looked at the sign over the bar as she went in to place another call. They had been there several hours now, and the novelty was wearing thin. It was then she noticed that the bar and grill would be closing at 6 pm that night so that they could do the once-a-week-if-it-needs-it-or-not scrubbing and waxing of the floors.

Jordan flashed a smile at the barkeeper. "Where's the best place for some night life around here?" she asked, leaning against the bar.

She saw the barkeeper regard her. "The best place that you will find is three miles up this road to your left and then make a right on the interstate. Look for the signs that say 'Pirate's Peek' and follow it in. It gets crowded sometimes on the weekends, but during the week days it's very nice."

Slipping him a folded bill, Jordan went out to where her son was placing spoons on his face and laughing at the sea gulls who he tossed bits of shell to. Sighing, she picked up her purse and snagged the keys to the SUV. "I have an errand to do, Sweetie…" she said to her husband, who nodded without looking up from his palm pilot. "Kissies," she said, sending one in his direction.

She walked away from her family without a backwards glance. They could walk to the rooms. Belatedly, as she pulled on to the interstate, she realized she had the room key for her husband, but, knowing him, he would probably be up half the night with his electronically gadgets. Her son was a dismal failure when it came to money - except for spending it, which he did with the greatest of ease. She didn't mind him smoking, as long as that and drinking were all that he did … his father was rather old fashioned in that regard.

Snorting to herself she remembered they had left their friends Chad and Claudette back at the bed and breakfast's tiny library. They said they weren't in the mood for lobster, and would snack on something from the diner next door later. Well, from what Jordan saw the town folded up at eight, and later better come sooner for them, or they would be very hungry…

She found the sign for Pirate's Peek easily enough, and drove down the coast the required mileage before she saw the upper parking area. There was only one other car that she saw in the lower area, which she pulled down and parked next to.

She didn't know what she expected - a sleazy Honky-Tonk, perhaps. It wouldn't matter. No one knew her up here, but she didn't care; it was her vacation. As she rounded the stone path downward, she noticed that there was nothing except a wrapped wire fence and a few of those one armed bandits that you placed money into to have a view of very far away. She saw the driver of the Mercedes along the fence - he had a box and he was throwing something over the fence that she could hear break as it hit the rocks below.

"Excuse me - is this Pirate's Peek?" she asked, approaching him.

He paused in mid throw. "Yes…" he said, sending the bottle in a perfect arc over the rocks to crash down below as the tide danced out to sea.

"But - where is it?" she asked, puzzled. She saw him turn slightly, and recognized him as the person who had purchased her a drink at the bar.

He gave a mellow chuckle. "You're standing in it, on it," he said, chuckling again.

"They lied to me?" she gasped, stamping her foot.

Hearing her ire Jake turned. "Let me guess - you asked where there is some night life, and they directed you here? Well, for 50 cents every fifteen minutes you can use those things and watch the boats come in from their runs, and then after, if you're game, you can sometimes use them to spy into people's homes across the way," he said waving his hand in the direction of the town. She saw him pick up another bottle and pitch it.

"And exactly what are you doing that's more exciting than the night life here?" she asked, curious as she strode to him, taking note of his firm build beneath his open shirt.

He stopped. "Ah, well, a fool's errand. Was given this lot to take to the local pharmacy to be disposed of, got the bright idea, after most of this began leaking in the car, to actually ASK them if they would, on supposition, take old chemistry stuff for disposal. The answer was no, and of course the recycle place doesn't want them. The good news is that the pharmacy was able to get replacements for everything, and those will be delivered tomorrow. In the meanwhile, I've got a smelly car, and no place to store this stuff, so… I decided to do what I did with my own chemistry set years ago… mix them to see what happens! "

"Which has been what?" she asked, leaning against the rail looking down at the mess upon the rocks.

"So far, it's just been the powders… Ah, here is something that should brighten up the night," he said, hefting the glass jar upward and holding it up to light. "Magnesium, or Manganese… I can't make it out, but it burns, if I remember… "

"You failed chemistry, didn't you?" she asked, regarding him. He was so handsome it took her breath away.

"I - won an award for creativity," he smirked, then saw the way she was looking at him. He handed her a bottle.

"Hold that," he said, going back to his car, and when he returned she saw he had a folded blanket and the opened bottle in his other hand.

She eyed him suspiciously. "Pray tell, what is that for?" she asked dryly.

"Well, if you don't have anything to do, and I don't have anything to do, then why not do anything together?" he asked, giving her a roguish smile.

Jordan studied the man before her. "I don't even know your name, and how do I know you didn't put something in there?"

He shrugged. "You can burn a capful to see if it goes blue, and do you _really_ want to know my name? Or can I be that tall, dark, mysterious stranger that you meet on vacation and sweep you into adventure?" he asked, dropping his voice and making her lean closer to catch what he was saying. He unexpectedly gave the bottle of chemical he was holding a toss over the edge. She heard the breaking of the glass then gasped as the chemicals below ignited and burned upon the rocks in a myriad of colors.

Demurely she placed her hand upon his elbow and allowed him to lead her to a place where they could study the night life with a better view.

Mort paced in Jessica's parlor. It had taken some convincing to get Willie and Taylor and Ian to come over, until he informed them it was a come-as-you-are event. Blankets in tow, the three came over after Mort helped Taylor down the steps. Donna was munching away on carrot sticks, and Frank was giving Tipper a worried look as she sat wrapped in Mort's coat, refusing to change what she had been wearing to what he had picked off of her bed for her.

Seth had come, and given the group and Mort a curious regard. It wasn't what he had expected. He didn't know quite what to expect after the call he had received from Mort. "Sheriff, I do hope that there is a reason why you called me away from my duties at the hospital?" Seth waited for an answer.

"Yes… I understand that the trip that all of you took to Ireland may not have turned out exactly as planned, but today I have seen things that I had hoped I never have had to see again." He turned to Willie. "I could blame you for a lot of things, but that wouldn't be fair. Odd things have always happened around Mrs. F, but either there is a conjunction of solar flares and sunspots mixed with a full moon, or all of you have something that you're not saying. Something that scares me more than the street gangs and facing the tax man at the same time. Tippers told me she is leaving Cabot Cove. Willie is crying over plants. And you, Frank - when your parents asked me to pick you up at the airport, I had a fair idea that you were going to be trouble for Jess, but that never happened. I want to know what did. What changed you all? And don't say, 'You had to be there!'"

"It's your fault," said Frank.

"Mine?" Mort said, confused.

"It wasn't Tipper's fault that the guy fell in, and you didn't need to say what you did. That was just – mean," Frank said, moving over to where Tipper sat and giving her a worried look as she huddled in Mort's jacket, shivering. Frank picked up Tipper's hand. "It's okay to talk about it, Angela… it's okay to tell what happened… "

Tipper shook her head. "Nothing more to tell than what everyone else knows," she said, biting her bottom lip.

Donna regarded Tipper. "How do you keep that from sliding down?" she asked bluntly as she began another carrot.

Tipper looked at Donna, and it took a moment before she realized what Donna was speaking about. "Oh… uh, the two-sided tape that's for the plastic on the windows in winter time," she said, giving it a bit of a tug to be sure that it was up. "And you have to sit very carefully." she added.

"All right, before we get going on fashions let's get back to what's going on and what happened in Ireland, and I don't care if it takes all night - I want to know everything," said Mort, looking around the room. The only one who showed hesitance in their eyes bout revealing everything was Jessica, who sat with a faint blush upon her cheeks.

"You first, Doc…" Mort said, pulling up a chair and pouring himself a cup of coffee from the carafe. If he asked in the right order, he suspected he would get his answers without having to place Jessica in the position of stating what she and George did in their own time in front of the family.

It was much later that Jordan struggled to get her shoes on with out dragging dirt in to them. Jake was already dusting his hands and impulsively dumped the rest of the bottles over the fence, tossing the box over to float away on the waves. He glanced at his wrist watch, and grinned. Eleven pm. He didn't have the heart to tell her that the sun would be up at a brutal time. He always pulled the blinds down and slept away from the rising sun when he knew he would be out late. Together they walked to their cars. He pulled her in for a fumbling kiss and offered her the last of the bottle. She waved it away, and smiled as she strode to her SUV and got behind the wheel, starting it up. She saw him stand outside of his car and tip the bottle upwards then walk to the fence to toss the bottle over the edge of the fence with the others.

She sighed happily as she made her way to the road that led to the interstate and began the drive to the bed and breakfast. He had been exactly what she had needed to make the whole horrible day better. It was several minutes down the road that she saw a sign that she didn't recognize and realized she had made a wrong turn. Slowing down she made a U-turn in the middle of the road and retraced her path. He made her feel – special. He was tender, and romantic, and he - he didn't say anything about needing a tummy tuck, or a lift job.

Jake sighed as he opened his car door and settled into the driver's seat. If he had his choice, he could have just stayed right where he was at and spent the night, but he knew that the police would be cruising by around midnight checking out for teenagers looking for the night life. He heard something. A drone. He felt something brush by his cheek and swatted something rather large away towards the passenger side seat. It thwacked against the window. "Damn moths," he grumbled as he put his car into reverse then made his way out of the parking area without his headlights on. He knew the road; he could see fine by the moonlight as he pulled on to the road that lead to the interstate.

He heard the drone again, this time more insistent, and as he slapped it away again he felt a sharp pain in his hand. He put his foot on the brake and looked at his hand - something was moving on it causing him extreme agony. He smacked his hand against the dashboard and heard another angry drone rise from it. Something hit his lip, as the moon grew brighter.

Humming, Jordan tried to compose herself. It would never do to arrive at the bed and breakfast with a silly grin on her face. She checked the mirror to see if she had been able to get all of the briers picked out of her hair.

Something made her look ahead as her car wobbled on the grooved edge of the road. What was that in the road? _A moose?_ Jordan thought as she slammed her foot on the brake peddle. She felt the SUV slide on the slick oil-chipped road. _Not a moose…_was Jordan's last thought before the impact between the two cars.

The SUV flipped the Mercedes on its side to slide down the road sixty-five feet before coming to a rest on the edge of the hill. Bouncing off of the car the SUV hit the cliff face and spun around in the opposite direction as the air bag deployed.

Mort glanced at the wooden clock on the mantle. 11:20 p.m. Willie and Taylor had given him a look and simply said they had gone to Gram's the night of the wedding and tucked in before falling silent.

"And?" Mort prompted.

A Tarzan's yell came from the jacket around Tipper's shoulders. When it yelled again her hand fished in the pocket and her eyes fell on the display before handing it to Mort.

He pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear. Andy was brief, and Mort could hear the wail of sirens coming from down below at the fire company. He glanced at the people in the room before leaning against the wall. "ETA fourteen minutes," Mort said, looking at his watch. "I have three that I will bring. Thanks, Andy." Hanging up the phone he strode to where Tipper had placed her things. "You need to change, now. Hurry," he said, pushing her to the other room and closing the door between them to give her privacy.

"Mort? What happened?" asked Jessica as he slid his coat on.

"The bus with the 4-H kids coming back from the county fair had an accident on the road near Pirate's Peek… They need every one with medical knowledge to help. Mrs. Fletcher - would you come too - to help figure things out…"

"Of course, Mort."

Tipper came out of the room tucking her t-shirt into her jeans. "I don't have my tranq gun…" she said, trying to steady herself as she wobbled on her sore ankle.

"I've my rifle in the trunk… and my pistol."

Willie had left the house briefly, and returned with a leather bag that he had slung by a thick strap over his shoulder. "I'm nae legal yet, Sheriff, but I can splint…" he said as he kissed Taylor, then Ian and inclining his head to Ian, placed him in charge of Taylor.

Mort looked at Seth, then back to Willie as he headed to the door with the group. "I don't think the State of Maine is going to worry about legalities tonight, Willie."

Tipper learned quickly that there wasn't much she could do for the animals that had been in the accident. When the bus had impacted it had rolled, sending the cages of the smaller animals end over end with enough force to snap bones and crush fragile bodies. The bus had cracked open, spilling its contents and scattering its precious cargo. There were too many to use a bullet on each for the smaller rabbits, and as they lay in their smashed cages panting from the shock, Tipper moved from cage to cage carefully lifting them up and giving them release from their pain.

The ones that could be saved she placed in a common cage - one that the owners would have to sort through by ear tags or markings.

Tipper watched as Jessica moved with Mort, taking in the clues by the bright light provided by the fire trucks. She saw him pause and look away towards where Willie was working over a child. There was abject sorrow on Mort's face - for a moment Tipper didn't understand. It was then she saw someone she recognized standing next to Willie. Tipper looked back at Mort - there was a vulnerability reflected on his countenance, and things seemed surreal. A man stood in a white shirt and dark pants looking about confused. She recognized him as one of the people on the bridge that morning. A darkness was surrounding him, one that he began to struggle against. Tipper glanced at Mort. He was looking in the same direction as the man was. Tipper returned her gaze to where the man continued to struggle. She didn't see Mort excuse himself from Jessica. He came to her, and followed her line of vision. With a silent scream the man gave into the darkness which enveloped him.

Tipper looked down and away, jumping at Mort's touch upon her shoulder. For a moment he couldn't say anything. Tipper asked it first. "You - saw that too?"

She saw the conflict on his face. He didn't say anything for a moment, then he extended his hand to help her to her feet. "The driver of the SUV insists that there was a moose on the road, and that that's what caused the accident. Her blood alcohol is - well, she's fairly pickled. You're the animal expert - it means the difference between telling the families it was a tragic accident, or that this happened because of a drunk."

Tipper turned to where Willie was still working over a young girl. She saw the man who was kneeling beside them stand and pat Willie on the shoulder. Willie looked up and then nodded as the man moved away.

"It's not impossible, Mort, for a moose to be this close to the coast. Just - unlikely. We will need your rifles - I don't particularly feel like getting trampled tonight. We can start by checking the cars to see if there are any traces that would be left behind, like bits of skin and hair," she said.

He stopped her from going towards the Mercedes. "You don't need to see that," he murmured. "Besides, he had to have rolled over a hornets' nest - the car was full of them until we used the fire extinguisher on them."

Jessica paced in the hospital's 4th floor ICU waiting room. Seth had directed her up to that particular waiting room as being one of the more quite places where she could close her eyes and rest until things were settled, but her mind was working in overdrive, trying to sift through the puzzling clues. Floyd was still at the accident site. There was only one fatality, three still in surgery. The rest had been treated and released to their parents, who looked to Mort for answers. The driver of the SUV was denying responsibility for the accident, insisting she saw a moose, didn't know where the other car had come from, and only said that the barkeeper had informed her that Pirate's Peek had nightlife. She flinched when she heard that the other man was a well liked, respected member of the community, and that she was being held accountable for his death. It was four a.m. now, and the sun was just coming up across the tree line. In the distance Jessica heard the train whistle as the Amtrak rumbled through the intersection.

She saw the doors open as Mort pushed in a wheelchair with Tipper riding in it, her leg elevated and her ankle wrapped well. Despite the long night they had endured, Tipper seemed calmer than she had in a long while. "Hairline fracture in one of the bones of my foot," Tipper said, waving her hand at her bandaged ankle.

Mort leaned forward. "It could have been much worse, young lady," he said with concern.

Andy came into the waiting room and handed a plastic evidence envelope to Mort. "Found this in Mr. Eliot's jacket pocket, Sheriff. The micro id's registered them to Rachel Andrews."

"That's not the woman who was behind the wheel of the SUV… was it?" asked Mort, puzzled.

"No, but the tire casts you made yesterday match the ones on the SUV, and Floyd found the same matching tire prints down in the lower parking level of the Peek."

The door swung open. An exhausted Willie entered with Seth beside him. Both were in hospital scrubs, and Willie had his long hair wrapped in a pony tail. He paused when he saw the earring in the evidence bag. "Where did ye find Jordan's earring? She's been going on fierce about it… as if tha's the only thing she has to worry about."

Jessica looked at the earring, and then at Willie. "It belongs to Rachel Andrews – as does the necklace that Jordan was wearing today as well, I suspect. I could see her playing with the stone while she paced on the back porch."

She saw Willie shake his head. "Ach, no - Wife doesn't own anything like tha' - what practical place could she wear it?"

"I think it's about time that Mrs. Phillips had her morning wake-up call," said Mort grimly.

Seth's pager vibrated in his pocket. Glancing at it he sighed. "Someone is trying to claim Mr. Eliot's body. Andy, I believe I will require your assistance on this matter. If you will excuse us? Perhaps the autopsy test results will be done…"

Jordan looked quite plain under the hospital's dim lighting. Jessica could see where the metal brace stabilized her head, and the series of cables that cradled her hips and right leg. A large patch was over her right eye, held on by thin tape. Burn marks marred the perfect skin along the side of her jaw from the air bag deployment. There was no trace of the perfectly manicured nails, nor of the swept up locks of her brassy red hair - it was clipped beneath a paper cap. Her rings and her jewelry had been removed as well, leaving her long thin fingers un adorned. The hospital gown was clipped over her shoulder, allowing her some modesty as the IV tubes and leads ducked under the cotton sheet. The IV arm - her right - was taped to a board so that she would keep it straight. Her left arm was wrapped in cotton and gauze, allowing only her hand to peek out.

Mort and Jessica moved in quietly to her right side while Tipper rolled over to the window, which looked out over a small park. She really didn't want to be there. She had heard enough about this woman, and had seen too much the night before.

Flipping the covers back at the foot of the bed Willie ran his thumb on the bottom sole of Jordan's right foot before repeating it on her left. _"How does one make things right in a world made so wrong? Who decides the final justice? What is fair, and what is more than what the truth should allow?"_ thought Willie as he pulled up a chair on her left hand side and turned it around. Carefully he took her left hand and held it, playing his thumb over the back of it.

Her left eye opened and moved sideways to regard him. The patch blocked her vision to the right completely. "It hurts…" she moaned softly. "They won't give me anything for the pain … it hurts so…"

"Shhh, Deirfiúr… stop fussing for a bit, and it will be better soon."

She couldn't turn her head to look at him, though she knew the sound of his voice. "Oh … it's you … did they go back and find my earring?"

Willie sighed and leaned closer so that she could see his face better. "Aye, they found it, Deirfiúr," he said softly.

Jessica walked around the side of the bed and stood behind Willie. "It brings a lot of questions that need answering, Jordan. It was in the pocket of the gentleman you said you'd never seen before. Your SUV's tire tread was found next to where his were in the lower lot - and you left an empty bottle behind with both of your prints on it. And if I am not mistaken, the bite marks on your shoulder will undoubtedly match his teeth impressions …"

"Make her stop … she - she's upsetting me," gasped Jordan to Willie.

"Deirfiúr, a man died last night on that road, and children were hurt. You canna hide what has happened. If it does not come out now, it will come out later for all the world to hear. Ye need to speak the truth."

"I got lost. I saw a moose, and I couldn't stop in time!" she said with as much force as she could manage.

Willie eased her back on the bed as Jessica continued more firmly, "I'm sorry, Jordan. Your tire skid marks were eighty-five feet long. There were no signs of any moose - we did check for that possibility. The bartender remembered selling that bottle to Jake the other day – but he couldn't have had much, since according to your blood alcohol level you were well past the legal limit for intoxication. You may have become disoriented in the dark, and become lost, but you were also speeding for the road conditions. Jake Eliot is dead because of it."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't a clue how he managed to get my earring either! The last time I had them on I was at the bar and grill, and I took them off to have a discussion on my phone. I placed them in my purse - and that didn't leave my car after I left the bar and grill. I would appreciate its return," Jordan said with a huff.

"Most certainly it will be returned to its rightful owner - as will the other jewelry in your possession - back to Rachael Andrews," said Jessica as gently as she could, as if to a child.

"Excuse me? Those are _my_ diamonds, every single one of those things are _mine!"_ Jordan snapped, then squeezed Willie's hand as the anger she was feeling made her try to get up, causing her discomfort.

She saw Jessica shake her head. "The earring found in Jake's coat pocket was examined under a high powered microscope. They found registration numbers - for insurance reasons the larger, more expensive gems are marked in case of theft. The earring is registered to Rachael Andrews, your sister. Unless you care to explain? I am sure with a bit more scrutiny the jewelry shop where it was sold can find a record of the purchaser."

Jordan's voice dropped. "It was purchased by my grandfather, who didn't know that a two year old girl has no use for diamonds. Rachael was his favorite. Every Christmas he would send packages for both of us, and I would find them early, of course, and look inside. He would send _me_ old dusty books! What did I want with yellowed handwritten garbage that I couldn't make out anyway? I would go to the five-and-dime, and just replace her gift with something else. I couldn't wear them around the house, of course, but someone who is ten has plans, dreams… I wanted to be away from that house in the worst way… but I was there first! Once she came along, she was their princess! She got the attention, she was the perfect, favorite daughter who could do no wrong. I made up my mind at her 3rd birthday party that I was not going to sit on the sidelines any longer." Jordan chuckled. "It was sooo easy to do things, to break things, and blame her - and of course, I learned how to faint properly. One does not simply fall backwards, but slumps gracefully to the floor at the first sign of a parent's anger. I always got what I wanted."

The door opened to her room. Seth peeked in and motioned to Jessica and Mort, who followed him outside into the hall. He was very careful to close the door between them.

"I take it you have the autopsy results?" asked Jessica, curious at Seth's frown.

"Aya, and after having spent three hours listening to that woman rant I would love to be able to say the best place for her is in a psych ward to serve her time - but Jake Elliot didn't die from the impact. He was dead before the accident after being stung eighteen times - eight times in the hand, four on his face, and six times directly over his heart - by the same hornets that had to be killed with the fire extinguisher. You thought at first that the car had come in contact with a nest, but Floyd was very thorough, and found no trace of nesting material. He did find patches on the leather fabric that held pheromones that induce bees to swarm. He didn't find the bottle itself, though he did find a discarded alcohol wipe that had the pheromones on it, and the outside wrapper for it that had a clear thumb print. He also discovered a great quantity of old chemicals dumped over the hill at Pirates Peek … and …"

Mort saw Seth hesitate. "Go on, Doc, it can't make my day any worse…"

"Floyd discovered that Jake never turned on his headlights, or his running lights. The Mercedes tire tracks are sideways, from a dead stop. He had pulled across the road and died there. The accident with the bus would have happened anyway - head on, instead of the way that it happened. Andy used that new highway safety protocol computer program and ran all the variables. He told Floyd that it could have been worse."

"So I have nothing to hold her on that would stand up in a court of law that her husband can't just pay a fine for her … and we still don't know why it happened, only how…"

"I wouldn't be too hasty, Mort. I have a pretty fair idea that Jordan still knows more than she is telling, and perhaps even the reason why he was murdered."

Tipper saw Willie's fingers manipulate the dose meter for the morphine drip then press the plunger, sending a small dose of the medication into Jordan's system. It was a few heart beats later that Jordan's voice faltered, before she asked, curious, "What does 'derfurr' mean?"

Willie picked up Jordan's hand and kissed the back of it. "Deirfiúr means 'sister.'"

"Don't… don't call me that. I - I haven't been a proper one at all…" she said, giving a sigh before falling asleep.

Willie felt Tipper nudge him with her extended foot. "Willie? Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"The - the man that was with you tonight when you were helping that girl … the one who patted you on the shoulder and walked away … who is he?"

"Why do ye need to know, lass?" he asked, curious.

"He was with Faraday and his sister when they died, and I saw him yesterday outside your shop sitting on the park bench just before a woman who was with Jake got bumped into the street - I pulled her back in time, and it felt like he was watching the whole time…."

"I daresay he was, at that," he said, standing up to maneuver her. He was about to wheel her out the door when she placed the brakes on and looked backwards.

"Who is he, Willie?"

"Oh - that's just Adam. Don't let him trouble your thoughts," he said softly, leaning down to unlock her chair to move it.

Her hands stopped his. She turned her face and found her lips at his ear. "I - I saw the shadows take Jake last night. He … he struggled and screamed against them …"

"Did he now?"

Tipper hung her head. "You don't believe me."

"Oh … aye, I do, lass. I very well do," he said, somewhat distracted.

"Then what is it?" she asked, curious over his expression.

"I'm sorry, lass - something tha' Jordon said. What type of a person would give gems an' the such to a two year old? Registered, at that. And the likes of hand-written books… no doubt original manuscripts."

Tipper regarded Willie. "Someone who had too much money and didn't know what to do with it, or someone who was hiding their money from the IRS?" she said, guessing. "What are you going to do?" she asked as he finally freed the locks on the chair.

"No idea besides getting a good rest. The family's got to be told… " he said, yawning.

"Uh… you know, the hospital has people who do that, and Seth could deal with explaining what was done, and what she has to look forward to. She doesn't know, does she?" Tipper asked, looking back up at Willie as they went through the doors towards where Jessica was with Seth and Mort.

"She does, in a fashion, but - it's nae real to her just yet." Willie pushed Tipper's chair up to the group.

"So?" asked Tipper, curious, as Willie excused himself and sat down upon one of the small love seats.

Despite the exhaustion Jessica felt, she was compelled to follow the information that Andy had extracted from the computer data base. Mort watched as Jessica carefully approached Althea and learned what she knew regarding Jake – how she had received the text message, and had left Al's bedside for the hour and helped to move the boxes to Jake's car_**. **_She knew about the bottle of alcohol. She knew something had been spilt that smelt like cat vomit, and she admitted using the wipe to clean her hands. Anything else she withheld was personal.

"Look, it wasn't my idea! I was just called on to carry boxes and help get them into Jake's car. They were ancient icky bottles that should have been thrown out years ago. None of the stuff was any good," said Althea with a shrug.

Jessica gave a quick glance to Mort as they left the hospital room. "If you feel up to it, Mort, I believe we have a delivery to intercept…"

Mort sighed. Adele would want an explanation, of course … but wanting justice was an addiction. "Just tell me where to go," he said, and saw her look of bemusement.

Taylor moved carefully along the plant shelter area and rotated the pots that held the fragile herbs. She had said they could build a greenhouse, but Willie had shaken his head. It was the wind and rain and sun that helped the plants to grow, and kept the soil alive.

Ian was with Frank and Donna still. Donna had made grits and they were on their second batch. If he kept up his intake, there may well be a chance to save him yet. Sighing, she came along the back way to the porch and saw the small crushed rose bush under the table. She felt her knees wobble. She had to sit down, and with shaking hands she gathered the miniature rose in its pot and held it to her chest.

She saw a shadow fall across her vision and looked up into the eyes of her brother-in-law. He looked anxious, and out of breath, as if he had walked a great distance very fast. "Rachael… have you seen Jordan?" he asked breathlessly.

She looked back down at the rose bush. "I have had this rose for fifteen years … it was the last thing that Pops gave me before he died. Jordan said that as the oldest, she inherited everything - this was the only thing that I was able to have to remember him by." Carefully she replaced it under the protection of the slatted table. She reached forward and was offered his arm to help rise. Not letting go she took him around to where the battered plants were struggling to overcome the shock they had received the day before.

"Do you know, that there are all types of gardens? Some for flowers, some for vegetables, and some for herbs. There is also a healer's garden - generation of seeds that have never known hybridizations. A healer plants half his seeds and keeps the other half to pass on to their apprentice. They are the same plants as have grown for thousands of years, helping people live. Pharmaceutical companies have offered fortunes for access to seeds such as these. The body doesn't recognize these components in pill form with fillers, only in the leaves, or the stem, or the root and only if it's used properly and at the right time."

"Jordan didn't come home last night. I stayed with Joshua and when I got up, I found the SUV wasn't in the lot and her room wasn't slept in. She doesn't _know_ anyone up here," he said with a sigh.

"Gene, she is not my problem, she's yours. Honestly? I can't care about her without sacrificing my own family, and she isn't worth it!"

"She's your sister! We're family."

"Funny, she never acted like it. Once Pops died, I was invisible. I would hear about the parties and the trips you took everyone else on after the fact, and gave up on ever thinking that I would be a part of it."

"You were invited! Every time! I made sure of it and I filled out the invitations myself. Jordan said you declined."

"Did you mail them yourself?" she asked, curious.

"No. Jordan always took care of that…" His voice faltered. "But you came to the ones that my family asked you to, for a while at least, and you acted odd then. You didn't speak to many people and you just sat there swilling down the rum and lime Jordan said you insisted on having if you came."

"I never swilled rum. It was tonic and lime. And it's pretty hard to pretend you're having a grand time when you're told at the door how horrid you look, that you didn't get enough sleep, that what you wore wasn't flattering. _'Oh, couldn't you have worn something a BIT more indecent this time?'"_ Taylor said, mimicking her older sister's voice.

"She was just teasing … she loves you," he said amicably.

He was unprepared when Taylor's hand whapped him on the back of the head. His hand went to his head as he turned to face her. "What the hell was that for?" he asked, confused.

"Well, I had hoped to knock some sense into you…" she said with her hands on her hips.

Gene was about to respond when he saw Ian using Jessica's cane to hobble out the back door and across the yard. "Aunt Taylor, Uncle Willie asks if you can come to the hospital. I told him you were speaking with a man, an' he says if it's Aunt Jordan's husband to bring him, he needs words with him. He said he will be in the 4th floor waiting room till ye get there, taking a nap. He says it's up to you if I come along or na."

"Let me get my keys…" she said, giving Gene a push in the direction of where the car was parked. To Ian she said, "Let Aunt Donna know you will be with us, and tell Frank that if there are any problems, he is to call for the police."

Ian gave her a quick nod then went back into Jessica' s house for a moment before coming out again and giving the door a good tug.

Gene had delighted in carrying Ian in his arms from where they parked to the hospital. He was feather-light, and his arms wrapped about Genes neck as he snuggled in. Joshua was never one to allow something so simple to be done with him. Ian let himself be carried with total trust, and when they arrived at the inside doors of the hospital, a nurse glancing at the cast on Ian's leg and swung a wheelchair in his direction. Carefully Gene placed Ian in the chair then followed Taylor to the elevators to head up to the 4th floor.

The doors were closed to the large waiting room with a myriad of people within. Seth and Willie were speaking to some parents regarding their children and Tipper was in her chair by the window. There were some other people in the room we well, some that Gene knew by sight, and others by reputation, and much like his wife, they did not expect to be kept waiting.

Ian looked back up at Taylor as she gasped. He followed her gaze back to the elderly man who was showing his displeasure at having to wait.

"Perhaps ye need this seat more than I?" he asked, reaching for her hand.

She shook her head. "No, that one's yours, but there are some over by Tipper, let's go join her - this may take awhile."

Tipper flashed Ian a grin. "Heyyyy, slick wheels!"

"Aye, yours are grand, too. Though I feel a bit silly in it - I can walk! "

Tipper gave a dismissive wave. "Yeah, I should have an air boot and crutches, but they said they don't want the liability if I should fall here."

Ian giggled softly. "But it's a hospital! If all they wanted was healthy people here, they wouldn't have any money, now would they?"

She returned his grin. "Sure they would, they would just get it from the insurance companies," she said in a low voice.

"Is tha' who they are? The in- insurance companies?" he inquired, glancing over his shoulder at the group of men in three piece suits around the elderly man who sat cooling his heals.

Somehow word had gotten out that one of the people who had helped rescue the children at the crash site was there. The families had come looking for answers just as the elderly man had arrived demanding to see his granddaughter, flailing his arms about when Willie informed him politely that the contact with the immediate family had to be made first before any one else could go in. For a moment she thought it was going to get very ugly. The suit men had stepped forward and said something low to Willie. From the sneer on the man's face it had to be pretty rude. Willie had just flicked an eyebrow upward and then indicated to the elderly man where he could sit while he waited.

People poured in then, coming over to Willie - distressed parents, weeping siblings. Seth came in and between the two of them they managed to tell the parents that the police were still investigating the cause of the crash, and that they would be the ones to give the final reports to the parents. Tipper watched as Willie interacted with the children, telling them how the accident affected their sister or brother, and that he didn't know about the wee creatures that were with them, except that some went to heaven, and the rest were in one rather large pen together, and if more wee ones happened because of it, it was meant to be.

When the room cleared Willie sighed and leaned against the back of the chair. Seeing Ian, he gave him a wink. Taylor hadn't moved from where she stood near the door. Seth motioned for Gene to follow him, taking him back to where Jordan was.

The elderly man stood and hobbled over to Willie. Straightening slightly he looked Willie in the eye and thumped his cane to the floor. "Now young man, I would like to know the status of my granddaughter…"

Willie studied him for a moment then asked. "If I may inquire, sir, how did you learn your granddaughter was here in the hospital?"

The elderly man waved his hand over to the gentlemen who stood three steps behind him. "They woke me at two this morning and told me that Thaddeus had received an inquiry regarding one of the registered earrings. The call came from right here in this hospital's board of directors' office. I was informed that there was only one woman driving separately, and that she was on this floor, and that you were the one responsible for her care. So, young man: where is my granddaughter Taylor Rachael, and what have you done to her? If anything happens to her…" He wavered. "If any thing happens to my little princess, I don't know what I would do…" he finished weakly.

Willie helped him sit down on a chair and then sat next to him as he shot a glance at Taylor, who stood frozen to her spot. "Mr. Andrews? It wasn't Taylor who was in the accident - it was Jordan. How the earring became involved in it is a long story best left for another time. Jordan lost control of her car, and skidded on gravel before her car impacted with another man's car - he was across the road with no lights. She has some damage to her right eye and part of her face from the air bag, and some burns on one arm. Her other arm was cut, but na so much that it can't be made right soon. Her pelvis was damaged, though, an' at this time the nerves in her legs to her feet are not responding, but it is possible that with therapy she will be able to lead a normal life. As for Taylor, I married her a bit over a week ago."

"Married her? Oh no you're not!" he said with sudden anger. Breathing heavily he closed his eyes to calm himself. "How much?" he asked, looking at Willie shrewdly.

"Pardon?" asked Willie, a bit shocked.

"How much money will it take for you to go back to where you came from and forget you were ever married to her? Ten? Twenty million?"

Willie's eyes glinted as he leaned forward. "I will make a deal with you. I will turn over what I have to you - a bride price - as a sign of my love for your granddaughter if you and your family leave us alone and in peace… an' you're welcome to revoke any trust that you may have for her as well. The condition being that ye never see her or our children ever again."

"What could a medical student possibly have that could be of any value to compare to the love I have for her?"

"Do ye na believe I could love her as you do? When I met Taylor, it was na about money or family, because she said she had none, and I didna know my own. She accepted me and I accepted her as we were. Keep your money, an' have mine, just do na be hurting her with your words anymore."

"I could never hurt her!" he gasped softly.

"Ye have. She's been in this room a great while an' ye never even noticed her. She said she's felt invisible to her kin, an' now I see how. It's about money and what is acceptable, na loveable … Wife?" he said, calling halfway over his shoulder.

"Yes, husband?" Taylor said softly.

"Would that be a fair trade? He keeps the money and you are na hurt any more?" he asked, turning in his seat.

"Would you ask that of me, husband?" she murmured. "If he wished for the money, it would be his, but do not ask … do not ask for me to stop loving him."

"I didna ask that - ye loved Jordan all along," he said tenderly, rising from his seat and going to where she stood.

She resisted moving at first. "I could not accept that they would never wish to care - that would be more than my heart could take."

"Then I canna ask that of you to accept. He can keep the money, come and go as he wishes, but canna forbid us to love as a family even if he leaves you in your shift an me in my britches," he said, kissing her lips softly.

Tipper cleared her throat. "Not to sound factitious, but that's well near a billion you're tossing over to Jordan, you know…"

Willie waved his hand at the suggestion. "Ah well, she will need it for the medical insurance premiums now, won't she? I could always sell the estate - but the going mark for haunted places is a bit down this year…"

"You dare jest with me, sir?" thundered Mr. Andrews, thumping his cane on the floor with a sharp crack.

Willie sighed and pulled a thin leather wallet from a pocket of his scrubs. He tossed it at one of the men. "They can look it up if you wish them to."

For the longest time there was an uncomfortable silence before Mr. Andrews held out his hand for the wallet and said to the men, "Step outside, I wish to have a discussion with my granddaughter and the man who says he is her husband…"

Willie turned and walked over to Tipper. "Lass, could ye be introducing Ian to what they call junk food? Just a wee tich of it, mind you…" he said with a wink. Nodding, Tipper led Ian out and down the hall away from the waiting room.

At the vending machine Ian regarded Tipper. "Why didn't you tell Sheriff Mort everything last night?"

Tipper worked the buttons for the soda. There was a soft Clip CLUMP as a bottle of root beer tumbled down into the slot. She put more quarters in and pressed a few more buttons for her soda. "I didn't hear you tell him everything either," she said, rolling to the next vending machine to plug in a dollar for a bag of Aquatic Fish. She tugged them out of the dispenser and tore open the bag.

"What is junk food made from?" he asked, taking a bite of a blue sea horse.

"Uh, I think cows' hooves…" she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Ian took another bite. "No… I've had the inside of cows' hooves an' it makes a decent broth, an' it tastes nothing like this… an' I'm na even ten, so how can ye let me be drinking beer?"

Mort sorted through the papers on the secretary's desk and picked up Althea's profile. Skimming through it, he looked up at Jessica and raised an eyebrow. "You know, when I went to school all the female teachers were old, married and carried long rulers to crack knuckles with. This one is single, young, and according to her record of teaching never has to raise her voice for the boys to behave. Wish I had a teacher like that…" He sighed and picked up the next profile. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"A reason for murder besides the missing funds, though that's a fair motive. There had to be a catalyst that made the murder more reasonable now, more so than before."

"So far the only ones that have any connection are Ms. Blair and Jake, and that was from years ago at White Pines, her high school…"

"What are you doing here?" asked Gibby from the doorframe.

Mort waved a piece of paper. "Search warrant, Mrs. Gibby. Probable cause for embezzlement and murder… is that the delivery you were expecting, Mrs. Fletcher?"

Jessica looked up. "Yes, it is … Oh - catch her, Mort!" she exclaimed as Gibby made a bolt for the door.

Mort neatly stepped in the path of the fleeing secretary and caught her arm none too gently.

"Kristin Gibby, I am arresting you for the murder of Jake Eliot…"

"I had nothing to do with his death!" she gasped.

Mort looked at Jessica. "The proof is in the boxes that are being delivered," Jessica said grimly.

It took a while for the boxes to be unloaded from the truck and signed for. Mort eyed the contents and then leaned into where Jessica was lifting each bottle out and turning them so she could read the label. Finding the bottle that she was looking for, she handed it to Mort, who read the label then looked at Jessica curiously. "I don't get it…" he mumbled under his breath.

"Althea said that the boxes they carried out were 'ancient icky bottles that should have been thrown out years ago,' and that 'none of the stuff was any good.'"

Mort leaned forward. "And that leads us to this bottle?"

Jessica turned the bottle in his hand, and Mort's eyebrows went up. "This breaks down to carbon monoxide. If this stuff was old, there wouldn't be any way that it would have attracted the bees, but the lab boys said the sample that was in the leather of his car looked like a cat had been sick… this doesn't have those properties," he said, frowning.

"No doubt it was mixed with glycerin to cause the oxidation process to slow down. It would have been impossible for an old bottle to have that chemical still in its active form. It could have only happened if it was new. We checked at the supplier, Gibby, and discovered that you had ordered two bottles of this about a month ago, receiving it a few days before the vice principal, Mr. Edwards, died. What we want to know is, why, Kristin? Why kill two people? Was it the money?"

Kristin snorted. "Money? What money? The money collected for the students to have their labs? No, there isn't a lot of that - maybe five hundred dollars a semester. No, it was all about Jake. He never passed his teaching certification… but he had a way with the ladies, and young girls. Made you feel special - worth something more than just a secretary. Jake got careless, though. Maybe he thought that with Althea coming he wouldn't need my help anymore. Edwards started asking questions, and I knew that it would only be a matter of time before they found out that I knew all about him. We were going through the old chemicals, and I remembered something from high school - the entire school was closed for a week because someone dumped a whole bottle of this stuff down the ventilation shaft over the weekend, and the school had swarms of bees everywhere. I risked everything for him …and he used me. I couldn't just let him get away with that, now could I?"

Mort sighed. "Kristin Gibby, you have the right to remain silent…"

Gibby gave a smirk. "You should thank me, you know… If I hadn't kept him occupied, there would have undoubtedly been more deaths, just like the ones at White Pines…"

Mort sent Jessica a glance. Unrepentant murderers made his skin crawl.

"All right, you go first. What do you think I didn't tell Mort?" Tipper asked Ian, curious. They had wheeled to the far side of the wing at the end of the hall by the window to be as far away from the waiting room as possible. Ian had a fair pile of different snacks on his lap, as did she. He had seen the corn chips, and she had seen the Twinkies – and it had been ages since she had snacked anyway.

Ian swallowed the corn chip he had been chewing on and held up his small hand to tick off his comments. "One, ye didn't tell him about your nightmares, which, by the way, scare the bejeebers outa me when ye let our yer shrieks. Two, ye never told him about the daisy chain Faraday made for ye. Three, there was na even a mention regarding the kiss you asked for on the steps of the estate from Faraday…" His voice raised a bit in a fair imitation of Tipper's: "_'Faraday…. Kiss me…'_" he said with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Whoa … hang on," said Tipper, leaning forward. Her voice dropped. "I didn't tell any one about that. How did you know?" Her hands clutched the arm rests of his chair.

Ian saw bright tears forming in her eyes. "Ye are na the only one who had dreams about the white steps an' the windows. I'm sorry that I caused you pain remembering tha'. I shouldna ha' teased you so. It was the moment you accepted you loved him, wasn't it?"

"It was the last happy moment we had before he died…" said Tipper, leaning back in her chair.

"Oh, lass, then I am doubly ashamed that I teased you about it," Ian said hanging his head.

"You didn't know."

"I should ha' asked Aurth. She would ha' told me if it was right or na to say. She ha' been spot on about other things before," he sighed, and fell silent.

"Who is Aurth?" inquired Tipper gently. She watched as he gave a shy grin.

"Oh, she's a wonderful older lady, speaks quite oddly, doesn't sound like anyone that I know, so I'm na sure where she hails from. Granmum said she was the first friend they made when they moved into the projects area awhile back, an' she would come around when there were problems in the house an' help us. We used to ha' long talks about why I was so skinny. Mum realized Pattie was taller than I was. She told mum na to go in the day that she wasn't feeling well, the day that Da died when the factory went up… If she hadn't been there to tell mum tha', we would ha' lost them both… One of the last things she told Da was tha' she knew of a doctor across the way tha' might be able to help me get better, a Dr. Buhmer. Da looked in the phone book but he couldn't find any doctor with tha' name… Now, what were you believing tha' I didna tell the sheriff?" he asked, raising his eyebrow brashly.

"I wondered if you'd seen something when we were kidnapped - there were just two of them, and I know I didn't see anything or realize what was happening until I was pulled backwards, and Frank had the same memory - so that would leave you. You were standing beside Frank, and you had to have seen something. It wouldn't make sense that we weren't hurt, but you were. Why didn't you tell any one what you saw before?"

Ian hung his head. For a moment Tipper thought he was going to burst into tears - he had his eyes tightly closed.

"I saw Faraday hugging you from behind, and he took your face in his hand like he was going to kiss you, and you melted into his arms. I heard Frank gasp, and then saw Flynn had him, and he was on the ground, an' you were too and Flynn looked at me. and knew it was something horrid, and I went to scream, but I couldn't. Flynn grabbed me and I bit him hard, He said I was very well going to hell, and na to make a sound on the way or my family would be joining me. I bit him again, and he brought his foot around onto my leg, an' the nasty bit of flannel on my face. When we got back to the bed and breakfast, I was scared that he would make good on what he had said, so I pretended. We were found then."

Ian lifted his face, looking miserably up at Tipper. "Faraday might well be alive had I said something, or my family be dead - an' what was I to do?"

Tipper shifted in her chair, regarding the young boy. "Flynn was a very bad person. Faraday didn't want to see anyone get hurt." She shifted forward again, taking his hand. "Faraday would have rather died than to see you and your family come to harm."

Ian studied her face. "Do you forgive him, for what he did? Can ye forgive me, for staying silent all this time?" he asked softly.

Tipper saw that tears were welling up in his eyes. "Oh, sweetheart," she said gently. "Come here."

Ian looked up at her, then moved the small bags of food off of his lap and set them aside before moving over to sit on her lap. He was very careful not to bump her ankle and when he looked up at her, he saw tears in her own eyes.

"Ian, I want to ask if you would forgive me, and all of the others…" she said softly.

"What did ye do?" he inquired, laying his head on her shoulder as she wrapped her arms about his thin body.

"We were so caught up with everything. We should have known something was wrong when you were so quiet about everything, how you sat still, and were so very good about helping, that we missed how much all of this had hurt you inside. We were wrong not to ask, or try to find out. We tend to speak out a bit more here - we let our children know that if something is wrong, to tell someone they trust, so that we can help fix it."

"I didn't know who to trust. An' your na one for opening up yourself," he said, looking up at her.

Tipper smiled gently down at Ian who yawned and snuggled next to her. "I'm getting better at it though," she murmured.

Waving the tumbler of Irish whiskey in the direction of Tipper, Mort raised his voice above the din of people who were crowded in Taylor's living room to wish Tipper well on her new job. "And if it hadn't been for the reports regarding Dr. Henderson's unique ability to bump into the most interesting of people…" he began as he smiled in her direction.

Jessica finished for him. "We would have had three unsolved murders, possible four before the school year started… Mrs. Gibby had no difficulties explaining that Jake had been calling in the complaint reports so that when Al came down the bridge, no matter where they were, he could count on Tipper's reputation to give him an alibi: she bumped them, and the bridge rail would give way. His next target would have been Althea, and perhaps even Mrs. Gibby."

With his arm wrapped around Althea, Al looked puzzled. "But why kill Althea, and me? What did we do?" he asked, curious.

Jessica shrugged. "Mrs. Gibby said it had something to do with what happened at White Pines High School a few years ago. The only thing that we could find was a reference to two girls who had borrowed his camping gear and had been found dead several days later. Jake Eliot swore that he knew nothing about the deaths, and then left town to come here. My guess is that when he learned Althea was coming here, he panicked. He learned that from a letter from you, Al… didn't he?"

Al hung his head. "Yes… I - I wanted him to know that even though Althea was going to be working at the same school as he, that, well, she was spoken for, and he had to keep his hands off…or else. I guess he took that as meaning I knew something else, and was going to tell someone."

Turning in his arms Althea looked at Al. "That's why Jake asked about you mother - he didn't know that I hadn't received your letter saying that you were coming… I saw Jake with the girls on my 21st birthday at the coffee shop. I always suspected that he had something to do with their deaths, but could never prove anything, let alone admit that I had almost fallen for his line. But you knew, didn't you?" she asked her young man softly.

Al gave her a cheeky grin. "Yes, I knew - that you had said no to his advances way too many times for his liking… I thought, if she could turn him down, what chance would I have… until, well, Mother pointed out that it's not looks that win the heart, but the heart itself…" Lost in her gaze he lowered his head and kissed her.

Frank and Ian looked at each other and shook their heads trying to suppress their giggles. The other adults in the room politely looked away, giving the two a brief moment of privacy. Mort saw something in Tipper's eyes as she stepped back through the door on to the back porch. Wordlessly he put his drink on the counter and followed her out while the others resumed discussing the coming semester. He came up beside her as she stood at the rail taking in the night stars over the ocean.

"I'm sorry…" he began.

"Ah, it was bound to happen, my reputation preceded me…" she said, waving her hand, dismissing his apology.

"I'm sorry about Faraday. I called George after we arrested Mrs. Gibby, when I had time at the office, and he - he told me what happened. Not just that Faraday was shot and died, but what really happened…"

"Stop…please," she whispered, leaning against the rail. She took a step away from him as if she was going to flee. His gentle hands lay upon her shoulders, turning her around to face him.

"I can't - not till you hear what I have to say. Look, I know you have every right to work where you want to, and live how you want to. I was wrong to say what I did, and I am sorry that I jumped to conclusions. Had I looked at the reports, I would have seen that some of the times you were knocking over people was when you were in Ireland."

"It doesn't matter, really…" she murmured, shaking her lowered head.

"Yes, it does. Angela, in your house that night, I saw at the foot of your stairway that guy we saw later at the accident. If you go, how am I going to look after you?"

"You don't need to," Tipper said firmly, looking at him finally. She was surprised to see tears in his eyes that shone in the moonlight.

"I think I do, for a while at least."

"I don't need you to look after me!" she said, a bit sharper than she meant to. "I don't want you to care about me, or fuss over me, or want to rescue me."

"You asked why didn't I let you go, and I told you that I was told not to. I was told by that same man who we saw with Willie - the same one I saw at the foot of your steps the other night. I don't want you to go, because I don't want to lose you as a colleague and a friend and I don't know how long - until, well, maybe the day that you get married and then you become some one else's responsibility… " Mort saw her shaking her head.

"Oh no no no… No marriage for me." She let out a long breath then saw him grinning.

"What?" she asked poking him in the ribs with her fingertips.

"Owww," he grumbled, still grinning as he turned her to the house. He was about to say something to her when his eyes fell upon something under the slatted table on the deck. Leaving Tipper's side he strode forward and moved the table to pick up the flower pot. He pulled Tipper in with his free hand and strode over to Taylor, placing the potted miniature rose in her lap. Three tiny bright blossoms were just opening from a plant that a short while before had been trampled beyond recognition.

Jessica walked over to where Tipper stood. For a moment she regarded the young woman in silence then said softly, "There isn't a clinic where you said you were going … I checked. Though you did hand in your resignation, much to the dismay of your coworkers. They would rather you had just a leave of absence…"

"I don't know. Starting over somewhere has its advantages," Tipper said with a sigh. She felt a bump behind her. Turning she saw Frank and Ian, who had serious expressions on their faces. Ian had tears building in his eyes.

"Mom says we have to face this like an adult, and wish you well… but we're still only kids and we don't want you to go," said Frank softly.

Ian took her hand in his. "We need you to stay," he said, his voice broken with emotion.

Tipper became aware that there was silence in the room. She sat on one of the chairs by the doorway and awkwardly opened her arms to the two boys, who burst into tears. Sniffing herself Tipper looked up at her friends. Most of them had tears as well.

"Okay okay, I'll stay…" she said, giving the two boys hugs. _"At least for now…" _

TBC …


	29. Chapter 29

**Shenanigans**

_For those who believe in the impossible ..._

_© Jan 20 2007_

_Kats_

The rustle of old tissue paper drew Walt Trudy into the upstairs attic of his home. For a moment he watched his wife Elisa's bobbing wispy red hair as she worked at shifting boxes in an old steamers trunk until she paused. For most of the summer she had been acting oddly - taking long walks into town and spending them sipping tea from her thermos on the benches that were along Oak Street. She just sat there - from everything he could gather. She never explained why. In the evening she would return to make dinner for him then spend the rest of the daylight hours searching for something. She had worked her way from the basement up. Most often his practice kept him later and he wasn't aware of what she was doing until by accident he came upon her digging through the storage boxes in the basement. She didn't say why. She would just shrug and move on to the next box, then put everything away until the next day. Walt couldn't prevent her, couldn't say for her not to do it. The house was always clean, the food hot on the table, the bills paid, the laundry done. At first he thought that she was simply spring cleaning. It wasn't until he realized nothing was being discarded and that she had moved to the ground floor that he knew she was searching for something.

By the dates of the things she was looking through he knew it had to have been when they were first married, or before. Once in a while her fingers would linger over something, as if lost in her memories. Twice she came across things that he had placed away from common sight, and when he came home they were carefully placed where they should be. Today though, the digging and shifting had come to a stop. Not to alarm her he walked softly across the wood floor boards to gaze into the trunk and at the object of her search. It was an old cedar jewelry box that was carved along the sides with ivy and some other leaf. He could see her hands were shaking as she worked the hook clasp to open it. Walt's eyebrow flicked upward. He had known the box was there all along. He had taken the time to sort and pack everything that had been sent to his wife when her grandmother had died. There wasn't anything of value or interest in that particular box, all the gem stones were paste. There were a few odd rings that were now black from tarnish. Elisa withdrew the box and straightening her back, stood up properly.

"It wasn't where I had left it before," she said blinking at her husband.

Walt waved his hand at the trunk. "It was just easier to put everything together, Elisa. That's all."

Clutching the box to her chest she closed the lid of the trunk and made her way past her husband down the steps to the second floor. Walt knew she would be absorbed with the box for hours, as she had before when it first came. He was about to follow her when his cell phone rang. Glancing at the number he knew who was calling. It was time to go to work and earn some money. Sighing he strode down the steps and grabbed his jacket on the way out of the front door. He saw his wife sitting on their bed as he passed the bedroom door, and knew she would be there when he came back.

Three hours later he returned, nursing a few cuts on his fingers. Elisa was at the stove stirring the tomato sauce for their dinner that night. He nodded to her then took the steps two at a time to the upstairs washroom. Returning downstairs, he paused at their bedroom expecting to see the old jewelry box on the bed, or dresser. There was no sign of it, and he reflected later that she had stopped her searching.

Ten-year-old Molly Bishop sat in the back seat of her father's car flicking her long red curly hair around as she wore a frown upon her face. The last thing she wanted to do this summer was to go on vacation with her Father to a tiny backwater town like Cabot Cove when she could be down in Florida with her mother and her cousins and her aunt Di. Molly popped her gum and looked out the window. Shared custody, court-ordered visitations and annulments were terms she had learned at a young age. Her grandfather had promised to take them all to the resort in Florida. She would be on the plane right now going there if a little thing hadn't stopped her from going: her father was allowed ten days' vacation time with her. He had informed the court on January 1st that he was going to take her to Maine on that particular week. He had as a thank you gift from a friend of the family access to their time share home for that time. As the dates became closer, her mother's father made the decision to take them all to Florida, and in her mothers Julia's eyes, that was more important. It had taken three letters back and forth to the lawyers to clear up the matter. Molly, by the order of the court, was to spend the time with her father.

_Just because she had to go didn't mean that she was going to make it a vacation for him,_ she thought with a smirk.

"Do they have any water parks or beaches in Maine, Daddy?" she asked as she looked down at her back pack that held her electronic games. Flicking through them she saw the medication her mother said her father needed every night before he went to bed. Her mother was a nurse, she knew what was best for her father. The divorce was something though that was best for her mother. She slipped the bottle into her coat pocket. She had no clue why her father wanted her to bring her winter coat - wherever they were going they weren't going to need it and he wouldn't accidentally find it tucked away between dirty tissues.

"In the lower part of the state you can sometimes swim in the ocean, but it's a bit too cold this time of year where we are going, Cupcake," he said briefly, glancing in the rear view mirror at her.

"Why do you keep calling me that? My name's Molly," she said, stamping her foot on the floor of the car.

Harrison Bishop sighed softly. A good thwap on the bottom or time out in the corner was what she needed more than the electronic games her mother kept plying her with to behave. He discovered that he couldn't correct his daughter or make her do anything without it being reported by his ex-wife to her lawyer. He loved his ex-wife and daughter with all of his heart. Love, though, couldn't keep up with her mother's desire of a high lifestyle and when she left him taking his daughter with her she had left a note: _"Left, don't bother finding us."_

He had panicked and called the police, who tracked her to a motel through their credit cards. The police came back with a PFA against him. He spent the night in a jail cell waiting for everything to be straightened out. While there were no charges against him that were ever pressed, his ex-wife made it a point to tell everyone that he had been in jail and that if he ever came near her again, she would see him dead.

He informed the judge the next day that his wife had made some decisions in her life regarding her health, and suffered from periods of manic depression. Because of the HIPPA laws he was not able to access the records to prove this, however the courts children's and youth service worker had witnessed a manic episode while she was waiting in the hall for the judge to return from chambers.

Until that point his wife had held the upper hand. She had played the pitiful damsel in distress perfectly. Medical records withstanding, the CYS worker took the time to have the judge review the security tapes. Harrison had been sitting waiting quietly - no one else had been in the hall when she approached him and began a tirade that made him look up at his wife. He did nothing to provoke it, and the only thing he said was, "Whatever." When court resumed, the judge ordered psychiatric evaluation for Julie, which she refused stating they were favoring her ex-husband. Leaning over the bench the judge reminded Julie that it wasn't optional. It was then Julie happened to snap, "Don't tell me what to do!" in such a way that the judge gave her a curious look and then regarding his decision that he had made in chambers, raised an eyebrow at Harrison and called the lawyers to the bench.

"My decision may not be popular, however, it will stand."

To Julie's dismay, the judge informed her that Harrison had every right to see his daughter, and that he was revoking the PFA on the grounds of insufficient evidence. Citing she was in contempt of court, he reminded her that should she attempt to disappear with her daughter again, she would face criminal charges of child endangerment.

She left him with 90% of the marital debt and demanded the maximum child support the state would allow. Harrison found the joint bank account empty, and with the forced sale of his house, if it had not been for the kindness of his sister he would have become homeless. Struggling to make ends meet he had informed his sister the only reason why he was working so hard to be in his daughter's life was because he had hoped she would someday come around. He knew his daughter was spiteful and manipulative - he also knew that his family's influence was the only positive thing in his daughter's life as family went.

The time share condo was nestled within the outskirts of the town. Everything was within walking distance and from what his friend said it was one of the nicest places you could ever raise a child in. Harrison knew Molly would probably hate it. Perversely that fact didn't bother him in the least. Everything didn't have to go her way.

"What a dump!" were the first words from Molly's mouth as they entered into the time share condo.

Harrison gazed about the room. It was comfortably furnished, the floors were newly carpeted, and the walls had a fresh coat of paint on it. Compared to where he had spent several months, living in the back stock room of his company sleeping on a futon sofa before his sister took him in, this was paradise.

Molly walked over to the sofa and climbed on it balancing on the two cushions. She bent her knees and began to bounce.

"Stop that, Molly," he said as gently as he could.

"No way, Dude," she said, putting her weight in the bounce to go higher.

"Do you do that at your mother's?"

She stopped bouncing and thought about it. "Nope. First time for everything, I guess."

"Fine. Bounce," he said, picking up her knapsack that held her electronic games and heading for the car.

She got off the sofa and followed him out. "Where are you going with that?"

"Until you begin to behave, your games are getting locked up," he said, gritting his teeth. He knew it would be difficult at best to control her temper tantrums that would follow.

"You can't do that!" she said, shocked.

He tossed the bag in. "Watch me!" he said, slamming the lid of the trunk closed.

Molly picked up a rock in her fist. Harrison looked at her. "Understand this, young lady: if there is any damage done to this place, the grounds, or the car, or anywhere in this town, it's coming out of your savings account."

"That's NOT FAIR!" she shouted, flinging the rock at him. Her aim was off and it bounced harmlessly on the ground, but the murderous look in her eye didn't diminish. He knew that look well. Her mother had it in her eyes the night she came after him with a butcher knife. Since they were married, he had gently teased her that the barbecue sauce that she used wasn't like what his mother had made. Finally after months of trying to please him, she went to his mother, asked for the recipe and informed her of what her son had said. His mother had given her a jar of the sauce. The night she had used it he said the same thing. It wasn't like what his mother had made. He heard the snick of the knife off of the counter and turned as she charged him with murder in her eyes and the knife in her hand. Had the knife not stuck in the table with the first attempted blow, he had few doubts that he would have lived to see the morning.

Nothing was ever good enough for her after that. The first apartment they lived in was too small; the next one, the neighbor was always outside sitting on the porch and would speak to her if even in a friendly way, every day. He bought her a house, and that wasn't good because a black snake made its way into the basement. She was never happy with her jobs, and moved from one office to another while she was in nurses' training.

Patiently he paid for her education, and whatever else she wanted. Even having Molly fourteen years into the marriage: with no children, she refused to consider adoption, even of an older child. Harrison had been raised in a loving, extended family. Taking in someone else's child was something that warmed his heart. After fifteen tries with medical intervention and 14 miscarriages, Julia became pregnant with twins. The doctor. had informed her that as a high risk pregnancy she was advised to stay in bed. Each day after work he would arrive home to kiss his wife, and then sit down with her and watch the videos of the sonograms until the tape would wear out and he would ask the hospital for another. Julia resisted the doctor's advice and five months into the pregnancy one of the twins died, leaving Molly to be born several months later.

Harrison's family noticed the change in Julia shortly after. Without a word of explanation, Harrison found his things moved into the spare room and his daughter's crib in what was once their bedroom. He knew the marriage was over. It came to a head when she had planned a Florida vacation with her family, that he was expected to pay the bill, but wasn't able to go due to managing the business. Putting his foot down, he informed her that they didn't have the money to do that. The majority of the debt came from having a triple mortgage, the money spent on having his precious daughter that his ex-wife had spoilt. The custody battle came later. When the house was sold, Julia took the money from the sale, all of it, and spent it on the planned trip. Harrison found himself facing the IRS to explain that the money that they had made from the sale of the house was gone, and that his wife had stated that if he didn't take on the debt he would never see his daughter again. It would be three years later that he was granted the rights to see his daughter - time that could never be replaced. He found that she had changed from the innocent child that had been snatched from his arms into a bitter, spiteful being that his family worked very hard at teaching social skills as well as proper eating habits to.

Knowing that he could never match a vacation that her mother entertained Molly with, his friends and family did what they could to make sure that she would have some memories of what a family could and should be like. Family that said "I love you" when they came and went, Family that supported and cared for each other.

In actuality Harrison had planned to find a way to separate his daughter from her electronic games the moment the bag had been placed in the car by her smirking mother. He had been specific: the games were to stay at home. One more reason for Molly to ignore him was the games. He could see the look of fury on her face as she stomped her foot. She was too big to throw herself to the ground and scream. The first time that she'd done that in front of his sister, Gretchen had tossed a dust cloth down onto her and said, "While you're down there could you do the base boards?" Molly was not amused.

He sighed grimly. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth it.

Molly made a face at her father and then crossing her arms began to walk away from him. "Fine!" she said, stomping off down the street.

Harrison knew that if he tried to stop her, she would start to scream and there would be problems later. He sat on the steps of the porch and watched as she went down a block into the mini mart. She had her own money - she had waved it around in the car until he had told her to put it back. For the life of him, he couldn't see how this could continue.

Ye Olde Tyme Mini Mart's doors were propped open to allow the sea breeze to flow through to the back door. Earl Shapp was in the far corner of the store with the outdate code book and glanced up at the chirp of someone entering the store. Near the entrance was the boy he knew to be Grady Fletcher's son, and with him just getting off of a bike was a smaller boy with dark hair. The Fletcher kid was explaining money to the smaller boy who was saying things with a heavy accent. Several people came and went after purchasing things, and he saw Tipper come in just after the boys had made their way to the pantry area of the store. Frank had a dog squeaky toy in his hand and was giving it a squeeze to see if Lucky would like the sound of it.

Molly reached down as she came to the door and with a bump of her leg, knocked the small sensor unit that made the chime off of its path, disabling it. She had learned that from Lydia, a friend of hers that her father had forbidden her to associate with, as if that was going to stop her from choosing her friends! As expected, with the sensor off its track, the chime didn't sound when she entered. She saw the old man sitting reading the notebook and flipping over packages as she ducked into where the candy isle was. Glancing both ways, she went to where the trading cards were - Lydia had shown her how to check on the back to see which ones had the holographic cards inside, cards that during school were worth good money. She had always had Lydia be the look out when she did this before, but the shop was small enough that she would just have to risk it. Slipping her right hand into her pocket she extracted the letter opener. Grinning she slid the small clip blade across the bottom of the pack and tipped out the cards. If she was right the six packs in the box that held the cards were at her fingertips. Absentmindedly she opened a king sized Snicker's and took a bite as she sorted through the cards.

Ian stood in front of the shelves that held cereal. He had several of them turned around and was reading the ingredients. Curious, he turned to Frank. "Is it any good, these things? I heard from Patty that some of the odd ones taste like cardboard, or are so rough it puts sores in your mouth. Where is that stuff that we had that Dr. Seth made when we were at Mither's?"

Stepping over to another part of the isle Frank pointed at the round container. "They have cinnamon oatmeal too," he said with a grin to his cousin.

Ian shuddered. "I be liking the cinnamon, but the rest you can keep." Ian walked up to the box of corn meal and gave it a sniff.

"What are you doing?" Frank asked.

Ian gave a shrug. "Mum does it when she is shopping, she will pick something up, and smell it, and if it's pleasing to her, she will buy it." he said with certainty. "How much does this cost, and do I have enough?"

Frank looked on the shelf. "I don't know. Let me ask …"

Ian handed him the container and watched as he went around to where the front of the store was. Hearing something in the next isle he became curious. He could hear Tipper saying hello to Frank and the noise in the next isle caught his attention again. Hobbling over he saw a young girl stuffing the last of the candy bar into her mouth. She looked up as he came to her and saw the shock on his face when he realized what she was doing. Grinning she handed him the wrappers, and then with her hand free she placed the sticky palm across his mouth wiping the chocolate over his lips. She bolted, being sure to push him backwards into the shelves as she ran.

Ian heard a roar in his head as Earl loomed over him dragging him upwards by his shoulders. He could dimly hear Frank's voice insisting that Ian hadn't done anything. He could hear Frank's voice, and the sound of someone singing. A tear came down his cheek as his eyes closed and his body went limp.

Earl shook Ian by the shoulders roughly as he dragged him upward. "Caught you red-handed, you stinking thief!"

"Let go of him!" gasped Frank, grabbing Earl's arm to stop him from giving Ian another hard shake. Frank didn't know what scared him more, the fact that Ian was limp, or the look of fury on Tipper's face as she came around the corner of the aisle and strode to where Earl was still shaking Ian.

Her fist cracked Earl across the cheek bone, sending him backwards into the shelves. Frank caught Ian as he slumped to the floor then looked back up at Tipper.

"If I ever hear that you have even touched either of these boys, I will kill you Earl Shapp!" Tipper said as a crowd of shoppers gathered in the store, drawn by the commotion.

Kneeling beside Ian she picked up his wrist and tried to find a pulse. It was there, fluttering wildly beneath her finger tips. "Come on Ian - stay with us," she murmured, lifting the small boy in her arms and holding him close to her chest.

"He just wanted to find something to buy for breakfast ..." said Frank softly. "I helped him down here on Aunt Jessica's bike, I didn't think that it would be too much for him with me pushing it, he just had to sit there …"

Molly stood against the row of cars a half block away from the Mini Mart slowly chewing on the second candy bar she had taken . She knew she should get away, but the shouting and mayhem that followed her exit of the store with no one after her or accusing her was too delicious to pass up. She hadn't been seen. Excellent. No one would believe that scrawny little brat anyway. She knew that she could get a couple more times in before they had to go. She saw the police car pull up and the chunky sheriff hurry into the Mini Mart.

A thrill went through her body as she glanced down at the Honda Civic parked at the meter. There was something in the front seat. Looking both ways she ducked in and snagged the bag off of the seat through the open windows. Whatever it was, the people would miss it. If it was found in her father's possession … well. Her mother would thank her - yes, she would be happy that Molly had figured out how to take care of the problem once and for all.

"And when Sheriff Metzger had Ian open his mouth up and stick out his tongue, there wasn't any chocolate in him at all. He did find something he said old people use to open up letters, and there was what he called a partial print on it. It wasn't Ian's, though - Mr. Shapp wasn't too happy about it. Oh, and the door alarm was de-activated. Dunno how. Tipper said it beeped when she came in, and it did when we came in because it scared Ian. Willie said they are taking Ian to the hospital for some tests while he takes his - clinicky something."

Donna entered into the kitchen and opened up the cupboard door looking for a glass. She went to the sink and let the water run, testing it with her finger before filling the glass.

"His Clinical," she began, being interrupted by the sound of the door bell.

The front porch door bell rang for the third time as Jessica crossed from the kitchen where they had been sitting to the living room. Glancing out she saw Mr. Carol Murphy and Gordon Charles, Vice Principal and Principal of the Joshua Peabody Elementary School of Cabot Cove. She opened the door for them and invited them inside.

"It's a bit of a surprise to see you here, Mr. Murphy. Won't you gentlemen have a seat?" she asked, leading them to the parlor where they waited until she had sat before taking a seat on the sofa.

"We understand if this may seem as an imposition, Mrs. Fletcher, but we do hope that you may be able to help us," said Gordon Charles, smiling as he spoke. Jessica knew the man by reputation - he was honest, and fair with the students, but the budget had been very tight, and she had an idea why they were there. She was a bit surprised at what she heard, though .

"We have been contacted by a Mr. Andrews, who has proposed to give the Joshua Peabody Elementary school a substantial grant for education with the contingency that the money is spent on quality educators, " began Mr. Charles. "Mr. Eliot's death leaves an unfortunate gap in our teaching staff and we've gone over the records for the state of Maine, and have only come up with one name of an English teacher who has not been committed to a educational institution " continued Mr. Charles.

"We would say yes to the money, but we are not quite sure what sort of a man Mr. Andrews is precisely, and if using the money would be in the best interest of the school …"

"I'm afraid that I may not be the person to discuss this with. You would be able to gather more information from discussing that with Taylor," Jessica stated, trying to avoid the issues that could arise.

Mr. Murphy nodded. "We will be going their shortly. We were wondering if you would please consider returning to teaching We would like very much if you could be our English teacher, taking over Mr. Eliot's position. We understand it's not about the money that you would be working for, but to help the community, and the next generation of writers …" he said with a congenial smile.

Jessica regarded both the men as they shifted where they stood. She could tell somehow that they had informed Mr. Andrews the vacancy in the position would probably be filled by her already. It was a monumental decision.

"Your offer is very kind gentlemen," she began.

"Then, you will be joining us in a few weeks – splendid," sighed Mr. Charles.

Jessica shook her head. "However, I must decline."

She saw both men look at each other then back to her, waiting for an explanation. She was saved from saying anything by the arrival of Frank, rushing from the kitchen saying breathlessly, "Aunt Jessica, Mom's sick again and she says she needs you …"

"If you would excuse me, gentlemen. Frank, could you see these gentlemen to the door?" Jessica said politely before she hurried to the back of the house.

Frank regarded the two men as he opened the front door, and Mr. Murphy beamed at him. "Mr. Fletcher, how wonderful it is to see you again. I trust that your studies are going well?"

Frank nodded, then taking a breath asked, "Is that why you're here? We haven't been back very long and I know that I am a bit late in sending them in, but Aunt Jessica said that I am ahead of schedule so they will be going out tomorrow, and by next week I should be ready for the final."

"Oh, that is quite good to know. I will let them know at the school to expect the arrival of the materials shortly. Your aunt is an excellent teacher - I wish there were more like her," said Mr. Murphy pleasantly. "We were in the neighborhood, and decided to drop in to have a chat with your aunt regarding another matter, though the outcome wasn't what we had hoped," he said with a shrug. "We were hoping that she might join our teaching staff."

Running his hand through his sandy blond hair Frank regarded the two men then shook his head. "I don't think she would have time for the students with everything going on. Mom's been really sick, and she has been taking care of her – Dad's in Ireland again, and we will be moving soon, but we don't know where yet or when."

Mr. Murphy regarded the young man before him. Since the time school let out, Frank Fletcher had changed, matured. "I hope the matters in Ireland won't keep your father away too long?" he asked politely. He saw Frank shrug.

"That's really hard to say. I hope you are able to find what you're looking for, gentlemen, good day," Frank said in his best way as he walked to the door and opened it for them.

Mr. Charles and Mr. Murphy nodded polity to Frank and then went out onto the porch. Frank closed the door and stood back, behind the curtained window. It wasn't as if he was eavesdropping, he was just a bit curious as to why they stood there. Snatches of their conversation filtered through the screened window.

"Miss Samantha could teach English …" began Mr. Murphy with some hope in his voice.

"What would we do for an art teacher?" asked Mr. Charles, sighing. "If the school board hadn't insisted on cutting the budget last year, this wouldn't be such an issue. We don't have enough teachers for every subject, or grade …"

Their voices faded as they left the porch and walked to Taylor and Willie's home. Frank moved back to the kitchen window and looked through the porch. He could hear Aunt Jessica and his mother upstairs now. He was surprised to see that Ian was sitting on the steps of the porch with Willie working over the plants in the pots, giving them a sprinkle of water and turning them. Ian looked through the slats of the porch and saw something below. Their voices floated through the window.

"You missed one, uncle," he said, pointing through the slats.

"Did I? I've all the vessels here." Willie said, counting them again.

"Aye, look, it's just a seedling I suppose. What is it?" asked Ian, leaning against the rail.

Willie bent over, and using a small pocket flash light peaked under the slats of the deck. His eyebrows raised slightly as he straightened up. "Nothing we are going to deal with this morning," he said, dusting his hands off. "Your aunt would pull me by my ear for a proper scrub again if I went climbing under there just now." He sighed then dusted off his hands again.

"It's quite lovely - do you think I could have it to tend? It looks very much like a tomato. Might I raise it, Uncle?"

Willie took a breath and was about to tell Ian no when Mr. Charles and Mr. Murphy came around the corner.

Mr. Charles regarded the young boy that sat upon the steps. The cast on his leg was only evident by the absence of the shoe. There was a weariness upon the child's face, as if it took all of his energy to just manage to sit up. There was also acceptance, a knowledge in the child's eyes that spoke of a wisdom beyond mortal man's comprehension. He didn't duck away to be shy, telling Mr. Charles that this child was older than what he appeared to be.

"Ah, Dr. Razanur. We were hoping to find you at home, we were in the neighborhood calling on Mrs. Fletcher to assist at the school as an English teacher, and were wondering if you had time to consider the position of science teacher at the school. Naturally there are tests to be arranged, and verification as well …"

Mr. Murphy saw Willie hesitate. "If you need more time to think about this, please say so rather than saying no. And if you have any ideas of whom we could hire as an art teacher, that would be appreciated as well."

"You lost your art teacher as well? Aunt Taylor is a lovely artist, she's her degree in it," piped up Ian.

Willie sighed. "Aye she does, and she would be a bonnie teacher for your students, but I would na be allowing her to do that "

A polite cough from Mr. Charles drew their attention to him. "Wives have been working for many decades without approval from their husbands in America, Dr. Razanur."

Willie straightened his spine slightly. "My wife is expecting, Mr. Charles. The welfare of them will always be paramount in any decisions that I would consider. While you may feel it would be easy for her to do, there are certain things artist use that would harm the unborn. This affects my decision to teach at your establishment as well. I hope you understand."

Taylor stepped out on to the back porch with her purse and keys in her hand. She came up short when she saw the two men. "Hello."

Mr. Murphy noted how pale she looked, yet there was a peaceful happiness upon her face.

"If you would excuse us, gentlemen, we must leave for an appointment." Taylor extended a wet cloth to Willie to wash his hands with. Her tone was friendly, but dismissing them at the same time. She watched as Willie placed his jacket on over his shirt. It wasn't that he wouldn't wear anything else, it was just finding it in his size. Ian had faired better. He had arrived with two pair of pants three shirts, one for play, one for Sunday, and one for best, one pair of shoes, and a nightshirt. Frank had chosen to grow, and the day that Grady had returned from packing he had brought a box full of things that were too small for Frank that could fit over Ian's cast.

Ian stood wobblily. "There is a plant that I've asked uncle if I may have. It's quite lovely, " he said conversationally to Taylor. Taylor looked at Ian then at Willie, who was busy wiping his hands still on the cloth. She knew his hands weren't that dirty, but that he was trying to be spared explaining something.

"Really? Well, that will have to wait until we return," she said, walking towards the car.

Mr. Charles and Mr. Murphy had no choice but to follow them out of the back yard. Willie took his time in getting Ian comfortable in the back seat, Taylor didn't hurry him; she knew they had time before they had to go, but there was something that was bothering Willie, something that he would rather not discuss with Mr. Charles or Mr. Murphy there.

As the car pulled away Mr. Murphy looked back and saw Willie give Ian a kiss on the forehead before closing the door. "I don t know if it would be proper to continue to ask him to take the position, with everything he has going on. Not that he wouldn't be a wonderful teacher, there just - seems to be much more that he is dealing with …"

Mr. Charles nodded. "It's up to him, or if the school board has any other ideas."

Jessica discovered Frank still standing at the window after Taylor's car and Mr. Murphy's car had pulled away from the curb and driven down the street. He had been devoting every moment he could to finishing up the work and studying for the final exam. She knew he would do very well. Something was troubling him though. She could tell by the way his hands gripped the counter, the sadness in his eyes.

"Frank? What is it, what's wrong?"

He shook his head. "It's not important," he said softly.

Jessica walked over to the chair by the kitchen table and sat down. "I'm worried about Ian too," she said softly. "I worry when your baby brother, or sister will be born, if things will be ok, and I have concerns about where you and your family will live - is that about the measure of things?"

Frank shook his head. "I'm worried about Mom. She's been sick a lot, more than before, and she hasn't been herself and that sandwich she ate earlier, marshmallow fluff, peanut butter and pickles, was disgusting. She knows she's not to have the pickles, and she wouldn't give them up … I feel like I am the parent now."

Lucky lifted her head up from the floor and scrambling to her feet she walked over to Frank, nudging his hand with her head. Whining softly she lifted her paw up and touched his leg.

"Lucky seems to think that there is something else that is bothering you," Jessica said gently.

"There are three more weeks left of summer, Aunt Jessica, and I will be done with the final in a few days. Dad will be back by the end of this week, and Mum still wants to go live with Grandma and Grandpa Mayberry. If the summer school is up, then, that means I have to go with them. I don't want to."

"You have your friends at school, but, besides Ian, you haven't made any up here - younger ones that is." Jessica said correcting herself. "Did you want to stay the rest of the summer?"

Frank sat down. Lucky came to him wagging her tail and letting it thump against the table.

"I would have to leave Lucky behind. Even if my glasses do help when they put me in the back of the class room, I still cant hear anything. Wouldn't I do better in a smaller school?

"You would do well wherever you put your mind to it," Jessica said, lifting Frank's chin up. "Lucky will always have a home here."

She saw his eyes fill with tears as he bent over and kissed Lucky's head. "I can't help but to remember what you said Cal's father told you, that it would only be for the summer that she would be here," Frank said softly.

"Well, it may be that the home that your parents will move into will allow dogs," Jessica said, trying to encourage him to a more positive mood, "That would explain why she wouldn't be here - he was aware that you were arriving."

Frank said nothing for a moment. "You don't believe in ghosts. You don't remember when he told you that, and Tipper did find the quill in the tooth …"

Jessica regarded her nephew. "I have to believe that when people die, they find their resting place in heaven. That sometimes a face that seems familiar is because we've seen a photograph of that person and our mind makes a connection due to similarities."

He looked at his Aunt Jessica. "Uh huh. And a healthy imagination is good to have until it gets you into trouble."

Harrison regarded his daughter as she stood at the vanity scrubbing her face and hands. He could see the remains of brown in the toothpaste bubbles in the sink. He had seen the police car arrive at the Mini Mart, and his daughter's movements back up the street from the upstairs window of the condo. Curious he had opened the knapsack and found her wallet with her money in it. He could feel the burn of acid that built in his gut. If she had anything at the store, he knew that she had no money to buy it. He had finished opening the condo windows up, and saw several candy wrappers in the trash.

"Have a good time?" he asked in an even tone.

"Mu-huh," she said, scrubbing her face with the cloth.

She saw him hold the wrappers in his hand. "Five of them is a lot to eat before dinner. How much were they? They look good." Harrison saw a flicker in his daughter's eyes. "Did your mother teach you to lie as well?" His face echoed sadness at the thought. She took a breath to speak then saw him shake his head.

"Your money is in your wallet, in your back pack. I saw the police car down at the Mini Mart - I would have hoped that your mother instilled better values in you."

She strode towards him and lashed out furious at his leg with her foot. He side stepped the blow so that instead she came in contact with the side of the baseboard , kicking it hard enough to bend the metal back, and in the process, doing the unthinkable to herself. Her eyes widened in shock as she dropped to the floor screaming in pain.

Harrison looked down at his daughter. She was holding her foot, bright blood seeping between her fingers. He could see the trace of the cut run across the top of her foot, and while it wasn't deep, she would need a tetanus shot. Even with the doors open, no one would bother anything. Harrison left her on the floor still screaming. He didn't doubt that it hurt, she just tended to increase the volume to get attention. Going to his room he retrieved his wallet and a map of the town and getting a plastic bag with paper towels he returned to her. It was a bloody cut - the paper towels would only be a temporary measure. Slipping her foot in the bag wrapped in the towels he used a strip of tape to secure it around her leg then carried her to the car.

Dinner was going to be late.

The pages of the exam book ruffled in the soft breeze from the open window as Willie sat for the second part of the exam. Glancing at the pages he scanned them quickly then standing up, walked to where the instructor sat.

Mr. Gibbon looked up at Willie. "Yes?"

Willie took a breath. "This one won't do, Mr. Gibbons," he said softly.

Mr. Gibbon's eyebrows went up. "Pardon?"

"This test, it won't do at all," Willie said placing the book down with the back page face down.

"And why would that be?" Mr. Gibbons asked dryly.

Letting a second breath out slowly Willie answered him honestly. "During my time of practice, I wrote a great many papers, Some that are being used apparently for things that I didn't know about. This is one of them."

"You're suggesting that you wrote this test?" stated Mr. Gibbons with a forced calm as he watched Willie nod, then flip to the back of the booklet before turning it around for Mr. Gibbons to see before extracting his identification card and placing it beside the booklet.

Sighing Mr. Gibbons picked up the second test and flipped open the booklet, then a third. He gave a groan, then closed them. Sitting back in his chair he regarded Willie. "You could have just taken the exam and not said anything."

"I would know that it wouldn't be a fair test." Willie said simply.

Mr. Gibbons regarded the four others in the room who were deep into the test. "Wait here," he said, standing up and striding across the room. In a moment he returned with Dr. Norris who held a folder in his hand.

"This way please," Dr. Norris said, leading his way out the door to another room. He leaned against the desk in the room and placed the folder down.

"I did as you suggested and ran a search on your works, and on you. I'm impressed. I do have to ask, why you wish to practice - you don't have to work, your research skills would be better served at a research institute. I understand you have your reasons. The booklets were an oversight, we could reschedule the exam, but, from my understanding from your interview, there isn't time to do that, is there?"

Willie closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. "No, there isn't, Dr. Norris."

For a long while the two men looked at each other in silence before Dr. Norris said, "I am convinced that you have exceeded the requirements to be a doctor in the state of Maine, however, I do have to have something on paper to present as a passing, or failing grade to the medical review board."

"What do you suggest, Dr. Norris?" inquired Willie, tilting his head slightly watching him as he picked up the folder and looking down at it.

"Book learning is fine, and many pass their boards from the book. But we haven't seen how you practice medicine." Dr. Norris handed a thin folder to Willie. "This is just the information that the nurse took and her observations noted on the side. Let's see what you can do with this one."

Willie flipped open the folder and glanced into its contents. Reviewing it, he sat down. "Ah, well. There is a wee bit of a difficulty with treating this young man, if we are to go by the nurse's notes - they are inaccurate."

"You haven't even seen the young man yet," said Dr. Norris, exasperated.

Willie closed the folder. "He's my nephew, and he was brought here so that what's going on can be discovered. From what we've learned, his eating patterns changed two years ago, he began sharing his meals with his younger sisters so that the food would nae go to waste. His mother noticed that his twin sister had outgrown him, and that he still fit into the same clothes as he did when he was younger. He does eat, now, not in large amounts at a meal, but in smaller bits."

"Why wasn't he taken to a hospital when it was first discovered?" inquired Dr. Norris.

"He was, and they had no answer for my sister except to feed him more porridge in the morning. He would eat what she served him, but it didn't change his weight, or his height. I do understand the nurse questioning if there was abuse done to Ian, an aye, he has been harmed, but not by his mother or father. His step-uncle was the one who broke his leg, though by accident or design we will never know, Flynn's not in this world any longer. The bruises on his shoulders came from an altercation with a shop owner this morning, and there is a police report that has been filed. Ian has times of strength and weakness that can not be explained. "

For a moment Dr. Norris stood contemplating Willie's words before inquiring, "What would be the course of diagnosis?"

"Full exam, CBC to detect anemia, electrolytes, urinalysis. Thyroid function tests, hormonal studies, hemoglobin electrophoresis, though it's unlikely that he would have sickle cell disease, and an X-ray to determine bone age."

There was an unearthly wailing coming from the waiting room as Willie and Dr. Norris approached. Opening the door Willie looked into the room where he saw Taylor holding Ian on her lap, his head nestled on her chest. There was a bright red mark on his cheek. The source of the noise was coming from a plump red-headed girl who was holding a foot that was in a plastic bag with bloody paper towels inside around her foot.

Willie pulled up a chair beside Ian and sat down. "What's all this?" he asked gently. Ian didn't answer, only turning his head to hide against Taylor. Willie looked up to Taylor. "I was coming back from the ladies' room, and words were being exchanged between those two - it came to blows," she said softly. "He won't say what was said."

_"Ni scéal cinn chroim é,"_ Willie said gently to Ian.

Standing up, he carefully lifted Ian into his arms and held out his hand to Taylor to help her up. "Come along," he said softly, escorting them back to an exam room.

As they passed through the door, the wailing stopped, followed by a snarled, "I was here before that - " A string of descriptive nouns issued from Molly's mouth. Willie felt Ian tense in his arms.

Ian felt Willie sigh before he heard soft words come from his uncle: "A wise person once said, 'No question is stupid. Only people are stupid. Some are rude, and the rest are unlearned … anyone can learn, ignorance can be cured, but stupidity and rudeness are permanent.' Does that about sum it up?"

Ian nodded.

Mort sipped from the coffee mug as he paced in Jessica's kitchen. "Don't know whether to laugh about this or cry, Mrs. F. Earl Shapp is one of those who needs a good thumping for years, just never thought it would come from Tipper. More paperwork than I want to deal with, and he has half a mind to press charges against her. She was clearly protecting Ian, though. Wasn't too happy when I reminded him he was facing charges for what he put Ian through. He closed up his store for today, it's a shambles right now. He said that he was going to call his insurance agent and see if they would help with the repairs to the store. No word yet from Taylor? She said she would let us know as soon as they found out anything."

Jessica shook her head. It had been several hours since the three of them left, and she was beginning to be worried about what was happening. Sliding the plate of homemade cookies over to Mort she took a sip of coffee herself. "Taylor said that it may take a while. Any news on the prints that were found?"

Mort shrugged. "Kids handle those cards all the time. Several were found on the discarded cards, and one matched the partial print on the letter opener, and we are running that set to see what comes up. No one saw anyone else in the store except Ian. I know all of the kids in the neighborhood, and none of them that are Frank's size have red hair. Given that the chocolate was on the outside of his face, and he didn't have the holo cards on him - the local kids just aren't into that, not here. Where is Frank, by the way?"

"With Donna, while she takes a nap. He said he can watch over her, and study at the same time. His final is as soon as he finishes the last section, and he wants it done with. " Jessica said with a smile.

Mort saw the lingering sadness in her eyes. "So, Donna has decided to move back with her parents?"

For the longest time Jessica didn't say anything. Finally she placed her coffee cup down and sighed. "There are three things that will break up marriages - death, money, and illness. Grady and Frank wish to stay in Cabot Cove, Donna wishes to be with her parents. I understand the conflict that she is going through, and I feel as much a parent to Grady, and as much a grandmother to Frank, as they would be my own flesh and blood. Frank being here has been delightful. I've become used to him, and all the excitement that children bring. I would love to have him see Cabot Cove decorated for Christmas, and the excitement on his face opening the packages on Christmas day. Maybe I would be selfish to hope that they would stay, Mort. I know it won't be easy for Donna no matter what she decides. Goodness knows the excitement that will happen when Taylor has her children. I … I just feel that if they go I will never see them again." Jessica shivered.

"When will you know?" he asked, gently reaching over to take her hand in his. It was ice cold. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing back the tears.

"Grady is due home at the end of the week. Donna has agreed to allow Frank to stay for the rest of the summer, and if the doctors that she saw before the wedding are correct, the baby should be born mid-September. If Willie is correct, the baby would be born in November …"

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway next door interrupted Jessica. She looked over Mort's shoulder and saw Willie get out of the car and open the door for Taylor, and then go back and open the door for Ian, who sported a new bright neon green cast on his leg. He swept him up into his arms and carried him to Jessica's place with Taylor in tow. Jessica opened the door and was greeted by smiling, tired faces. Mort saw Willie regard him curiously before settling Ian down on Taylor's lap.

"Ah, Mort, before it gets dark, I would like a word with you outside," Willie said before turning to Taylor and raising an eyebrow to her.

Willie excused the two of them and led Mort to the back of the house before pulling out his pen light and handing it to him. "Ian found it this morning, before we were going to leave. I know that it was not on the seeds that my gram gave to me, I've asked Wife, and its nae from her. I spoke with Jordan, and she assures me that Joshua is not into tha', though with him anything is possible."

Mort bent over and using the flash light regarded the plant that was growing under the back porch.

"Is that, what I think it is?" inquired Mort with a fair bit of surprise.

Willie faced Mort with a steady eye. "Aye. The Hebrews called it qìnçh boúem - reed of balm. Ian has asked if he may have it to grow he says it's pretty … he doesn't ask for anything Mort, what do I tell him?"

Moving to the porch step Mort sat and folded his hands. "I am going to be honest with you, Willie. The laws in Maine are specific. Given that the planting of it was accidental, there would be no charges pressed. A bird could have dropped a seed from a feeder. The plant should be destroyed. However, I heard of a case where a man's girlfriend was found murdered, and the only evidence there was, was a single leaf that had been caught in her hair. The tree itself was common, but the same leaf type was found in the trunk of his car. He had the same type of trees in his back yard. They found using DNA technology that the leaf from her hair matched the place where she was found, but didn't match the leaves in the back yard - but there was a leaf under the back seat of his car that did match it, and tied him to the crime."

Mort sat quietly for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. Looking back up at Willie he continued, "You had belladonna take over the town where you lived, you understand the dangers of the youth being addicted. The plants that they are using now are more potent, and dangerous that they were thirty years ago, and even for this town, it scares the daylights from me to know that somehow, it may make its way here. What would it take to be able to do that type of testing? To see if we could identify if its from the same *reed of Balm* family or if its from different sources? Everything we have is sent to Portland's lab, and they don't have time to help keep a data base. It's not that I don't trust the lab. But - seeing how easy it was for that nightshade group to weave into Cabot Cove, well, my level of trust has been stretched. What would it take?"

Sighing, Willie leaned against the rail. "You would need an area that was clean, one of those sanitary rooms. You would need a location that was secure, and you would need approval from the state to run the facilities at the very least. If you had that, and someone that was licensed to do the testing, it would soon become a full time job."

"If all of that could be done - would you help with it?" Mort asked with his eyes studying the struggle upon Willie's face.

"You know I will help organize it, Mort, even without asking. I've held too many that died from overdoses in my arms to let another perish from the greed of men. You should know, too, that if that Reed of Balm was the only way to bring comfort to one who was dying, I would prescribe it to stop the suffering."

Drawing in a long breath Mort nodded. "I will start making phone calls to see what we can do. I know the others are waiting. After that, you and I will have a discussion with Ian about this plant."

Willie nodded. "It will have to wait until tomorrow. He doesn't have the strength right now to even wobble properly."

Mort led the way back to Jessica's house where everyone was in the living room. Ian was snuggled against Taylor, his eyes closed with a smile on his face. The others were discussing the plans for dinner and stopped when Willie and Mort came into the room. Eyes turned to Willie, who offered a chair to Mort before sitting down next to Taylor and taking her hand.

"We can't keep them in suspense much longer, uncle," said Ian, still with his eyes closed.

"Ah, well then. I couldn't take the paper tests they had for me because all of those tests had been based on cases that I had researched years ago. Dr. Norris picked a file at random from the patients at the facility and the one he happened to pick was Ian, who was there for testing anyway. We knew Ian was anemic, and we found his cholesterol level was extremely high. There were some other puzzles in the mix as well. We began a discussion regarding the porridge that the doctor told Sara to give him to eat, and he said he only could eat it if it had plenty of sugar on it. Therein lies the key. Ian has a copper deficiency. The amount of sugar that he was eating was blocking the copper from being absorbed. Iron anemia and copper anemia test the same, but are treated differently. So, it's no more sugar, and copper with zinc supplements and things should improve fairly quickly. He might grow a wee bit taller and most defiantly a bit wider - we will know the difference in about two months."

"You passed, then," said Mort, smiling.

"Don't know that officially, they have to turn it over to the state. There was a second case that I saw, the one the staff named the wailer - Ian and she had a meeting of the minds in the waiting room, though he hasn't explained his dealings of it, I heard her side, and more," said Willie, casting a side long glance in Ian's direction.

Sitting with his eyes still closed snuggled against Taylor, Ian said nothing. His mouth opened and a gentle snore came from it.

"I believe that explanation will have to wait until another time," said Jessica gently. She looked at Willie, then Taylor who had exchanged glances for the longest time. "What else did you find out?" Jessica inquired.

Taylor gently lifted Ian's hand and as it slipped down unresisting. A single tear slid down her face. "Ian has been having auditory hallucinations, and according to the tests that were run, he has impairment of his mental processes. We don't know if the impairment is permanent, but the auditory hallucinations should disappear with treatment. Some children have imaginary friends, but they usually forgo them when they begin to socialize properly with other children. We spoke with Sara before we took him to the hospital, and Ian has had the same imaginary friend for as long as she can remember. They did what they could to humor the situation when he was younger but if it continues, it could mean mental retardation. It might be because of the copper deficiency. At this point the state of Maine probably won't accept Ian in the school for the regular courses. He will have to be home schooled."

Jessica saw Willie sigh before murmuring softly, "It may not be all as bad as that. I didn't see what the written tests were, and I have asked for copies of them to see where his education would be lacking. 'Twas a long day for him, with more on his mind that the bits of paper before him. His grades in school last year were exceptional, so there is no understanding beyond the advancement of the deficiency to explain it."

For a moment there was silence in the room as all eyes rested upon Ian. Willie turned back to Mort. "Oh, the young lass that Ian said took the candy and cards may well be one known as Molly Bishop, she and her father are staying at the Parkers' for the next two weeks. She was at the hospital today getting her foot tended too, an while she fits the description that Ian gave earlier, that no one saw, she had quite forgotten one of the holo cards in her pocket that fell out when she was getting dressed after the exam. She left it behind." Willie extracted a plastic bag that held the card, in the middle of it was a dried chocolate thumb print.

Mort's eyes danced with amusement. "I take it you learned from Mrs. F regarding criminology? I will run the prints, and if there is a match, let Earl know."

Shrugging Jessica smiled herself. "It runs in the family, Mort."

Jessica saw the look of sadness in Willie's eyes as Mort walked out of the room. Frank did too, and taking Donna by the hand he said, "Let's get dinner started, Mum." Donna allowed herself to be led out. Frank closed the door between them discretely.

Willie waited until the steps were well away before saying to Jessica. "Aunt Jessica, I have informed Mr. Murphy that I would na be teaching at the school, though I was able to find some one who would. Mort has asked me to help with something and I will - I will, as much as I can. Ian has asked that we take him back home to be with his family if we feel the treatments that he will be receiving are not effective. If we go … we won't be coming back. Taylor won't be able to fly much longer, and the children when they are born won't be able to travel for ages. If it would come to going, we don't want Frank to know all of it. Only that Ian would go peacefully to sleep, not the dying by the inches."

Jessica blinked back tears. She could see Ian stirring a bit, and didn't want to break down completely.

Willie stood and went to her. "No tears now. He is still with us," he said bending over and giving her cheek a kiss. "I have an errand to run, may be a bit, would you mind if Taylor and Ian took supper with you?"

"Not at all."

Harrison Bishop sighed. It was late by the time they returned home, and he somehow knew the person on the porch was someone that could explain what his daughter's involvement was earlier. He looked back to where his daughter was scrunched down trying not to be seen. "Molly. You are old enough to know this. If you do something wrong, there is a punishment for it."

She hardened her glare at him. "You did plenty of things wrong to end up in jail."

"I ended up there because your mother lied," said Harrison firmly as he got out of the car. He went around to the side of the car. He had switched the back locks as child safety locks so she couldn't bolt from the car at a stop sign. She had, once, then screamed that he was kidnapping her. He wondered how something so sweet that had laid in his arms could have been raised to become so bitter.

Earl waited until they came up to the house. Molly took her time limping as Harrison refused to carry her. "Mr. Bishop? Sheriff Metzger mentioned that you were the person that I needed to speak with. May I come inside?"

Harrison nodded. "You're the shop owner. I have a fair idea why you're here." He looked at Molly. "Could you please bring glasses and the pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator, Molly?"

She was about to refuse, but something told her not to make things worse for herself than they already were. She nodded and then clumped off to the kitchen, pausing at the closet for a moment on the way there. They needed ice of course. She put different color straws in each of the glasses, and then with a satisfied smirk she carried the tray into the living room where her father was sitting. She had filled the glasses, and shoved one with a blue straw towards her father. "I get the pink one, and you get the green one, and you get the blue," she said giving the drink a swirl. She noticed that her father's grim expression didn't go away. Picking up her drink she sat back on the sofa and waited. Nether of the men touched their drinks. Earl regarded her and she could see that he was very upset with her. Her father was as well.

"As I was saying, Mr. Bishop, it's not so much the money to replace the broken shelves, or replacing the stock on the shelves, it's, well, being closed the entire day losing those sales during tourist season is the real blow."

"I absolutely agree, Mr. Shapp. I am a self-employed business man myself, and I understand during peak times the loss can be substantial. I had informed Molly earlier that if any damage was done by her actions that reparations would come from her savings account. While the local banks are closed right now, I can make arrangements tonight to have the cash delivered to you tonight about nine thirty. Would seven thousand be sufficient?" Harrison asked, reaching for the phone.

Earl nodded. He wasn't expecting it to be this easy. Most out of staters were adamant that their children were innocent. He knew that Molly hadn't done all the damage - some of it had been done when Tipper had reacted. He knew she had a house, he could put a claim in against her and her home owners' insurance would probably cover it with out blinking and if anything, Mort's police report would allow the insurance company to cover his loss as well. He'd placed a call with his agent and left a message. Elisa Trudy had said she was going to be there later to see the damage. She was sweet eye candy. Reaching forward he grasped the glass with the blue straw and took a deep sip. It was bitter and sweet at the same time, yet soothing. He felt himself relax and agree that Molly would come down the next day to help with the clean up. Perhaps an honest day's work would give her a greater understanding for how money was made.

"You can't prove it was me! I wasn't even there!" she shouted, jumping up from the sofa.

"Now see here, I wouldn't be here if I didn't have proof!" said Earl a bit thickly.

"That snot gob is lying! I didn't take anything, he did!"

Earl pulled something from his pocket. It was a copy of the holo card with her fingerprint, the copy of the letter opener with the finger print, and the Child Find records that her mother had provided to CYS just incase something would happen and she would have to trace her daughter.

"I could believe that the letter opener would be coincidental, but you left this behind, and it matches the prints and the cards left behind. Mr. Bishop, the sheriff was kind enough to tell me that your reputation is outstanding. I will take your word that this will be resolved as you suggest tomorrow. I trust there will not be a repeat of this?" Earl said looking at Molly.

She swallowed and didn't say anything. Earl saw a flicker in her eyes. Contempt. No doubt there would be a repeat, until she was caught and old enough to be taken into police custody. She watched as he stood, and drained the glass of lemonade with the green straw. The bell at the tavern began to ring as the two men shook hands.

For the longest time Harrison watched as Earl walked down the street to where the tavern was. Molly had picked up the tray and carried it back into the kitchen to dump out the ice from glasses of lemonade that they had been drinking from. He saw her scrubbing one of them in particular, taking care to rinse the remains down the sink then slipping the cups into the dishwasher. She started, as a rabbit would when come upon unexpectedly.

"What's for supper?" she asked trying to hide her surprise.

"I ate at the cafeteria earlier. You said you weren't hungry then, and seeing how you have had eight candy bars today, I would say you had more than enough calories for the day. You're going to bed without supper."

"But …"

"And if I hear another word from you I will find out who that little boy was that you hit at the hospital and give him every thing that is in your back pack. In fact, its best you go to your room now, and get ready for bed."

Molly was about to protest further but knew that she better not press her luck. Sighing she limped off to her bedroom and closed the door. Glancing about she sighed. From what her mother said, it wouldn't take long for her father's medicine to take effect. Leaving her games behind locked in the trunk was a wrench. She pulled out her over night bag and opened it. She had kicked it under the bed already packed with everything she was going to need. It felt lighter. Blinking several times she wrenched it open and found her father had unpacked everything. Panicking, she looked for the diary her mother had given her. It was gone. She burst from the room and stormed into the living room where her father was calmly sipping another glass of lemonade.

"Give it back!" she demanded.

"Give what back?" he asked, curious, leaning forward to look at her.

"My diary! You took it from my over night bag! "

Harrison sighed. "No, you had it on your night stand back home upstairs the last time that I saw it. You wanted me to run the steps to get it and I told you to get it yourself. If it's anywhere, it's at home," he said evenly.

Molly turned and stormed back to her room. Her mother had given her an open ended ticket; she had placed it in her diary along with the cab fair money that would take her to the airport.

There was only one thing to be done. She knew the money - her money - would be arriving at the store in a few hours. She would have to pretend to go to sleep, and then sneak out and get the money from the shop keeper to get home. Grimly she smirked. She had a fair idea of what the medicine was that her mother had given her - she wasn't stupid. _"Give this to your father and when he falls asleep, call a cab, and go to the air port. By the time he wakes up, you will be with us, and he won't be able to do anything about it."_ The rub had been that Mr. Shapp had taken some of her father's drink instead of her father. There was enough to give him a second dose tomorrow night if she had to. Then she could call her mother and be with her.

Molly hadn't thought about the fingerprints. She knew there were rubber gloves under the sink in her bathroom, and she would use them when she went to see Mr. Shapp about the money. There was also the matter regarding that snot-nosed snitch. She would have to see about him and make him pay for giving the police her description.

Tipper walked into where Willie was working the large loom. She knew that when he needed to think he wove. He had called her on his cell, asking if she could meet him down at the shop a bit later as he had something to discuss with her. She could see his shirt sleeve was torn, and there was a dark area under his chin.

"Willie! What happened?"

He looked at her with a wisp of sadness. "Ah, well, found Earl Shapp at my doorstep here drunk as a skunk as you say, and he took a swing at me because I had sent his good friend Kent Fordham to prison. He's due to go to the chair in two days and Earl was in a right state. Said he would see me and mine dead before Kent was, and he grabbed my shirt when I turned about and he swung. I may be short, but I am nae helpless when it comes to defending mine. Dumped a bucket of water for the dogs over his head and left him outside his shop nursing a headache."

Tipper took Willie's hands in hers. The knuckles were split open again. "Let me get something for those," she said, withdrawing.

He caught her hand in his. "No, let them be. Angela, I need to ask a favor and you're the only one that I trust to do this."

"Sounds serious," she said, pulling up a chair beside the loom and regarding him.

"Mort is wanting a way to set up a lab to test certain things, the DNA structure of plants that people are nae supposed to be having, and he wants me to help with it. I can help set it up, but the work required to run it, well, with everything, life is going to be very busy for us for a while."

Tipper nodded, understanding.

"I feel as if I have failed Ian. That if I had not been so concerned about other things, his diagnosis could have been sooner. I should have seen the signs straight away. His mother never told the doctors that he was hallucinating. She just thought that he was having fun with a make believe friend, but it went on too long."

"A make-believe friend? Ian? Really? He never mentioned one … wait, he did mention someone a while back. Some one he called 'Aurth.' He said that Aurth was friends with his parents, that she told Sara not to go into work the day that the explosion happened - and about a Dr. Buhmer that was across the way that might help Ian get better. Are you saying that he made it all up? That he hallucinated this person and what they had said?"

Willie didn't say anything for a while. He looked down at his hands and then up at Tipper. "Sara mentioned about the mysterious Dr, Buhmer. Ian just came up with that out of the blue one morning and drove them to distraction until they looked up every single doctor that began with a B, both, at home and everywhere they could think away was. He wasn't found. It's made him schizophrenic."

"Oh," Tipper said closing her eyes.

Willie sat in silence for a moment before beginning again. "Angela, Ian has asked us to take him home, to be able to die with his family, and we won't be coming back. The pregnancy isn't going well for Taylor. She's made her wishes known that the children will come first, but there is little hope that she will live through the spring. I've willed the shop and contents over to you. You're the nearest family that we have. With your permission, I will teach you what Mort wants to learn, and if your choosing, to, to run it and prevent others from being harmed by drugs."

Numb, Tipper nodded then asked, "Willie, what if Aurth is like Adam, or Gabe? That only Ian can see her?"

She saw Willie shake his head slowly. "I asked Adam. There's no one like him that he knows named Aurth." For a moment he sat in silence before the tears came spilling down his cheeks. Tipper gathered Willie into her arms as the sobs overcame him.

"She called me a snot nog, that I was a smelly odd beggar's son and when I told her to get on with herself, she called Mum an old flah-bag. Then I told her she was a miserable sot and she popped me one. Well, I did her back and she got this look in her eye and she kicked me - had to be her sore foot of course, and she screamed and popped me again. I ducked it and drew on her chin and she went down like a sack of potatoes down the hamper. Her da was quiet like the whole time, like there wasn't anything he could do to make her behave. She's the same one this morning, who was in the shop and pushed me down," said Ian quietly as he lay on the sofa with his head on Taylor's lap.

Jessica raised her eyebrows at his statement. "Ah, well, if your uncle would have known that I would imagine he would have used a larger needle for the shot she needed. Not that it would be sweetening her disposition though, not even a wallop. Your mother and father should have taught you better not to hit girls, though."

"They said I couldn't hit my sisters - they didn't say I couldn't to other girls."

Taylor looked up at Jessica, who was trying to cover a smirk.

Closing her eyes for a brief moment to compose herself she drew in a breath. "While I haven't known your uncle long, I have only seen him strike a man once, and that was to save Franks life. Healers do no harm. It's part of the vow they take."

The door opened. "Dinner is ready," said Frank, regarding Ian with concern. "Do you want me to bring in a plate for you here?" he asked gently.

"I can manage to take it at the table, Zookie," said Ian softly. "What are we having?" he asked, testing the smells coming from the kitchen. "Smells good."

"Corn bread, greens, and chicken soup," Jessica answered for Frank as he went to the younger child and helped him stand up slowly. Jessica saw Ian perk up.

"Is there a lot of corn bread?" he asked, curious.

Frank nodded. "We made up a couple of batches."

"That's a lovely smell, I could eat that corn stuff every day," Ian said breathing in, a smile to his face.

"You wouldn't get tired of it?" asked Jessica curiously.

Ian shook his head as he clumped to the kitchen. "Oh no. It's easy going down and sets well, and on the coldest of days it wraps me up like a fluffy blanket all inside. I particularly like the grits that Dr. Seth made when we were at Mither's - I would like to have that every meal if I could."

Exchanging glances with Jessica, Taylor ruffled Ian's hair. "Maybe we can arrange that."

Frank looked between Jessica and Taylor then to Ian as he settled into his chair. He was going to ask Ian if he was daft or something, and to go for something substantial - like a thick steak. Nether Jessica or Taylor or his mother said anything when Ian helped himself to his fourth muffin. He watched Ian spread the fluffy butter over each one carefully then savor each bite as if it was the grandest thing he had ever eaten. After dinner was done, Frank watched Taylor carry Ian to the front parlor and with dimming the lights, knew she had tucked him in on the sofa. There were quiet words between the two women before Taylor went out the front of the house to her own. He slid the last dish into place and heard that Jessica had helped his mother upstairs. Going to the living room Frank picked up his book bag and withdrew his note book. With shaking hands he turned on the dim lamp and began to write:

"_Lesson 20, Pre Final Summary._

_This is the next to the last summary of my English summer schooling taught by Mrs. Jessica Fletcher._

_In the past weeks I have written regarding the changes that I have encountered during my time here. I've learned about growing up, dealing with issues that adults do, and come to an understanding regarding a mature approach to events, even those that you can't control. I know the adults want to keep worry from kids. A healthy dose of worry is good to deal with once in a while, but the concerns that I have are far beyond what anyone should have. I worry about Mum, and the baby. Sometimes she is fine, other times, I am the grown up, taking care of her. Dad won't be back from Ireland until the end of this week, and I don't know if he will need to leave again. _

_Summer is almost over. Up here the leaves are beginning to change already. Leaf peepers have begun to arrive, and there is an entirely different feel in the air. A briskness, one of concerns that adults have exchanged, and I wonder if my cousin Ian will be seeing the snow's first fall. I know that the adults are worried about him. I am worried, and I can see it in my Aunt Jessica's eyes as she looks at him. There are things that they learned today when he was at the hospital, things about him that they don't want to share just yet, and I see how ill he is, how, weak he is, and I know he is facing the end if he doesn't get better soon. _

_I never knew Cal. I only have known Lucky, his dog - my dog now. I worry about her, and what Aunt Jessica said about how Lucky would only be with her for the summer. I never knew any child who had died before, as a friend, or relative. I mean, I had known Faraday briefly, but to lose some one very young, younger than me, how can that happen? How can that be allowed to happen?_

Tipper wrung out the scrap of cloth again and handed it to Willie. Pulling aside the chair she had been sitting on, she straddled it and then waited as he wiped his face, and then sat back as he pressed it to the back of his neck.

"I know you too well, Willie - you left Ireland behind to come to the States to find the sword, and to clean up the mess, but you also made the States your home. Why are you giving all of that up to go back?"

"You know the answer to that," he said sighing.

Poking him in the shoulder she shook her head. "An answer that I half believe."

She watched him tilt his head. "What would you believe? Do you really want to know the truth in all of this? Truth that no one would listen to if you told them, or if they did, you would be locked away for speaking it? Do you want to really know, do you really feel that when you do know, that you can believe it to be the truth about what I am? What Ian is, and what Wife will bring into the world?"

"I read the books - I know all about your family history …" She watched as he shook his head.

"That's only the side that the world wanted to believe. You know, they spoke of a gathering - that this place here had an energy that would bring it all together, and the sword would be what drew them. I don't know if Kent had a look inside and put the connection with Jessica and my mother together or that he just happened to pick Cabot Cove to build the last shop. I always knew that my grandfather was small, and his father even shorter. I had the chance to look at Ian's blood today, and I knew what my gran's blood and my blood look like under a microscope. There are things that are the same, and things that are different. Ian does have a copper deficiency, but there is something else. He has a recessive gene. The girls don't show theirs, but no doubt they have it as well. The children that will be born for our family are only going to keep getting smaller - until they are the way they were hundreds of years before, the size that is known as the wee folk. If he doesn't die, then, well, it's best the world doesn't start wondering about him, or the children that Wife will have, or the girls when they are old enough. We have to go back, and go into a different kind of hiding."

"Things aren't the way they were a hundred years ago, Willie! They don't toss dwarves to the lions any more," Tipper said, trying to hold in her frustration. She saw something in Willie's eyes - fear. She saw him swallow. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You have to know - when your children are born, they may be smaller - they may be like us …" he began before falling silent at the sound of her pager going off.

Tipper groaned. She wasn't on call. She hadn't had a night off in the longest time. She glanced at the number on the pager and frowned.

"Who is it?" Willie asked, seeing her expression.

"Earl from Ye Olde Tyme Mini Mart - well his pay phone at least. Don't know why he would be calling me, I made it clear he was to take Hefei to the vet in Portland, and I cleared my sheet at the store." Frowning she checked the voice mail box, there was nothing.

Sighing she slipped her pager back in the holster and took a step to the door. Willie stopped her. "Angela, I'm nae your father, but I wouldn't let you go alone to the likes of Earl tonight alone. Let me get my coat upstairs," he said as he took the steps two at a time. Tipper heard the bell of the shop ring and turned. A slender older woman with wispy reddish grey hair and twinkling blue eyes peaked in.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was looking for a young friend of mine's uncle - I thought I might find him here. Never could pronounce his first or last name. I have a message for him, but you can pass it on just the same? 'Ivy will grow most everywhere, as does clover. A bird will only nest when it is safe; it's safe to nest now,'" she said as she turned to go out the door.

"Wait, I don't even know your name!" Tipper called as the woman closed the door behind her. She rushed to the door and opened it up, there was no one on the steps, no one on the porch, no one on the street, and she didn't think that a woman that age could move fast.

"Who are you calling after?" asked Willie behind her. Tipper nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn't heard him come down the steps, or up behind her.

"A lady came with a message for you." Groaning with frustration Tipper heard her pager go off again.

Molly stood outside Ye Old Tyme Mini Mart with the number that was on the shipping invoice wedged where she could read it and dial at the same time. It had seemed like it took forever for her father to fall asleep. It wasn't hard to wipe off her fingerprints from the plastic wrapping and put his hand print on it then carefully, wearing rubber gloves, she tore the bag and carried it to the shop. She didn't know what she was going to do with it at first, but after finding Earl sprawled blue faced in a corner of the store, she fought the urge to scream, then wrapped it around his neck and tied it with a bow. It wasn't tight, but they wouldn't look to see what else killed him then. She dropped the bag that held her father's prints, and looking around, she saw the envelope that held her money from her account. It wasn't open. It had fallen to the side with some other envelopes and invoices.

Carefully she ripped that open, and then stuffed the folded cash in her pocket. She was going to crumple the envelope and toss it, but thought better of it. She could leave it behind at the condo for them to find with her father's prints on it, and she would have nothing to worry about ever again. She took the invoice and dialed the number again. She wanted someone to find him and she knew that she would have to hurry home to get into bed for her alibi. There was one other thing she had to get. She should have done it first, and the dim light from the coolers weren't much help as she went to the automotive section to pick up the half gallon container. It was heavy. She knew she didn't need all of it, and she could dump some of it out later once she was away.

She had looked up the airport and called them from her room. There were no more flights out that night to where she wanted to go. The earliest would be at 11 in the morning and she was sure she could slip out with her father's habit of sleeping in and catch a cab elsewhere to go to the airport.

A noise up the street caused her to jump. She hurried down the street to the safety of a clump of trees. Hunching down she didn't see anything, but heard a man speaking to someone else, and a woman answering him. In the light from the street lamp she was able to make out the street signs. She had over heard the woman with the snot-nosed kid saying where he lived. She knew he had a dog, and she had heard something from Lydia regarding what she carried up the street. Too bad he wouldn't be able to get a refund on the squeaky toy,

Peering in the dark she found the house and went up onto the back porch. Silly them to leave dog dishes outside. She gave the child proof lid a twist. No kid she ever knew was deterred by one of them. The rubber gloves were hot and sweaty. Resisting the urge to take them off she gave lid a twist again and tossed it aside. The container slipped from her hands and thudded to the porch splashing everywhere. Molly jumped back away from the path of the spilling liquid and fell backwards off the steps. She saw a light flick on in the upstairs window. Scrambling to her feet she fled down the street, going down a different way to where the time share was. Panting she gave the door handle a twist to open it. It wouldn't budge. She knew she had left the door unlocked as she slipped out - no one ever locks their doors in back water towns! There was a slip of paper tucked under the mat. Curious she gave it a tug and in the light from the street she saw the word "Busted." Wrinkling her face up she crumpled the note.

She knew that if she wanted a bed that night she would have to knock on the door. Frowning Molly replaced the slip of paper the way she found it under the mat and stomped to the car. She had left her side unlocked, just in case she had to plant something later. She had tossed the rubber gloves into a garbage bin behind one of the shops - no one would notice them there. She reached in her pocket for the envelope using the corner of her shirt to protect against her fingerprints getting on it. Numbly she realized - it was gone. Fine. That just made things better. She hadn't touched it. No one would make the connection to her until she was long gone. She had seen the bus station in town, and it wasn't that far. She would get a ticket to Portland and be gone in a short time. At least she had the sense to hide her bag in the bushes. It was still there, along with her spending money which her mother made sure she had enough to get to the airport even if it was by a cab. Brushing off the leaves, she slung the strap over her shoulder and began the walk to where she knew she would be getting the bus. At least it wasn't anywhere near the mini mart. She could see the flashing of lights from the police car, and the ambulance.

Striding grimly to his car Mort sighed. He hated to be the one to tell relatives that someone had died, even if it was someone like Earl Shapp. He knew Earl had some uncle somewhere out west, someone who cared for him. Willie had come down with Tipper, and both tried to do their best to revive Earl. There was a long latex thing that Tipper had said was hers, but it didn't explain how it had happened to end up wrapped about Earls throat. Willie had admitted to defending himself against Earl, and Elisa Trudy had said Earl was in a weird mood. She had arrived after Willie, and she had been there when a courier arrived with a thick envelope. Earl had laughed, waving an envelope around and saying it was pay back for every snot-nosed brat who had stolen from him. She had taken photos of the damage, and then left him as he opened a bottle from the top shelf. He said he was in the mood to celebrate. Politely she had refused his offer to join him.

The envelope from the courier wasn't there, though it was possible he had taken the money and put it in his safe, or the bank's night deposit box. He had consumed a fair amount from the bottle. Glancing back at the long latex thing Mort raised an eyebrow. He knew he would find Tipper's prints on the thing, and on the bag. He would have to trace who the courier service was and find out if he could what was in the delivery. The banks wouldn't be open until morning, and his brain was working in overdrive.

Andy came out of the back room with a prescription bottle that was almost empty. He glanced at the date, and the label. Taking a breath he went back in and faced Tipper.

"Do you know anything about this?" he asked trying to keep his voice calm. "You know, this makes how bad it looks for you even worse …"

"I'm his dog's vet, of course I know about that. I don't know why there are so few pills in it, and yes, dogs can have chronic pain requiring narcotics. But it's a baby dose," she said as her pager went off again. Sighing exasperated she pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the number, pressing a button, she read the text message that was attached.

"Who is it?" asked Mort, curious. He knew from Tipper's statement that she wasn't on call.

"It's Taylor, someone's poisoned Sydney," she said, looking at Willie.

Mort swore under his breath. "Andy, stay with this. Come on," he said taking Tipper by the elbow. "Its faster if I drive you there."

Taylor had the front door open, and as the three of them entered the house they could see her standing at the counter with Sydney in the sink shivering from retching.

"Antifreeze – it's all over the back porch. I let her out and I saw her licking the deck, and I turned on the light … She'd just eaten - I don't know how much she was able to get into her before I got her up off of the deck. I ... I made her vomit then gave her charcoal and egg whites - I didn't know what else to do."

Willie went behind Taylor and guided her backwards as Tipper moved to the sink. Mort went out the side door and they could see him walking carefully around with his flashlight playing on the ground.

"Who would do such a thing? She's never hurt any one," Taylor asked, shivering in Willies arms.

Willie watched Tipper work over the sink, listening to her soft words of encouragement to Sydney. "Well, we are lucky we got to her as soon as we did. That stuff takes a while to get in to their systems, though she is a small dog. You did all the right things too - do you have any Vodka on hand?" asked Tipper.

Mort regarded her with some surprise. She saw his look and explained, "It gives the organs that would be affected something else to work on …"

Mort held up his hands. "You're the doctor," he said, raising an eyebrow as he watched Willie go to the cabinet and withdraw a bottle.

"Irish whiskey is what we have," Willie said, handing it to her.

Striding out the front door Mort pulled out his flash light and began to sweep the yard with it looking for clues. He saw Jessica's door open, and in a moment she was beside him with a two foot long bar. "Perhaps this will help?" she asked as she handed it to him.

"What is it?" Mort inquired, curious.

Jessica reached down and switched a button on the side of the bar making Mort wince from the odd purple light. "It's ultraviolet light, a portable one. The younger generation called it 'black light' because it doesn't really illuminate anything except certain things - things with sodium. The reason I use it is to find something that has been moved, or damaged."

"Really?" said Mort eyeing the bar. "Stay right here." He went to the door of Taylor's house. Jessica saw the back porch light flick off, then Mort came back to her and with both the flash light and the black light, Mort followed the splatter of the antifreeze. For a moment he gazed down on the ground. He could see a small foot print, and a hand print. There was evidence that someone had fallen backwards.

"Ian has been with you this evening, hasn't he?" Mort inquired softly.

Jessica nodded. "We tucked him in on the parlor sofa not too long ago. Taylor came over to let Sydney out, and then this happened. What's that?" Jessica asked, pointing to something white and crumpled that had tumbled under the bushes.

Mort slipped on a pair of gloves and carefully picked it up. "Something that makes it more complicated by the moment. From what Elisa Trudy said, Earl had a delivery from a courier service, and this looks like the envelope - no money though. Makes it looks like robbery was the motive, but this is the only thing that was missing," replied Mort.

"Who was the person who sent the envelope? And why?"

Mort directed the beam of the flash light onto the envelope. Jessica could hear him sigh as he flicked the flash light off and clipped it to his belt.

"Molly Bishop. She's the child that stole from Earl today. The same one who started something with Ian at the hospital. An unpleasant child if there ever was one."

Jessica glanced at her watch. "It's probably past her bed time - but some how I have a feeling that she is still up. While the evidence to this is circumstantial at best, it would warrant a discussion with her, and perhaps something to shed some light on things?" she said, nodding to the light bar.

Mort nodded as he gave the area a final sweep before going to the trunk of his car. Not that Cabot Cove was a hot bed of crime, and Sam Booth had questioned why getting the pallet of Redi Pour Plaster for cast making was a good idea - but it had been. Not only did it add weight to the car during the winter months, with a few squeezes and a zip of the seal he could have enough plaster to track bigfoot to Alaska in a matter of moments. It set quickly, stayed where it was poured with out the use of support forms and held an incredible amount of detail It would also attach itself to a second mix with out seams. Not that he ever had to do multiple castings, but the knowledge that he _could_ …

Withdrawing half a dozen packets he handed five of them to Jessica, before striding back to where the hand prints were. He'd had enough of Molly Bishop. If she was even partially responsible for the evenings activities … Mort sighed as he poured the thick plaster in the impression of the hand then wrote the date and location with the stylus pen that came with it in the rapid setting plaster.

His father would have walloped his back side. Whoever did this had to have known what they were doing. Somehow the thought of incarcerating someone like her didn't bother him. Seemed almost too easy, and he doubted if it would change who they were.

With the last one poured he dusted off his hands and returned to the open trunk. The other thing he had purchased in large amounts was kitty litter. He knew washing it into the soil would cause problems. Sighing he shrugged the bag over his shoulder and carried it to the porch where he sifted it over the spilt antifreeze. There was nothing to be done for the area where the container had been dumped, it was already in the soil, but he could at least mark where it was for removal later. Grinning he went back to the plaster casts and tipped up a corner. They had hardened in a matter of moments. He slid them into evidence bags and placed them in a secured box in the trunk before turning to see Jessica sweeping the ground with the black light bar looking for more clues as he went around to the front of the house.

There was the sound of quiet sobbing from Taylor as Willie held her. Tipper was still by the sink softly stroking Sydney's fur as the little dog lay on its side shivering. He had seen other dogs and cats suffer from antifreeze poisoning, While Sydney had been full, and they caught it right away, the stress that she had been put under at her age might be too much for her to handle.

"If your ready to go to the clinic?" Mort asked gently. Tipper nodded, wrapping Sydney in a large towel. "We have a fair idea who did this, and were able to gather several plaster casts. I've placed absorbent material down, we'll figure out how to get it neutralized later."

It wasn't much of a bus station, thought Molly as she swung her back pack over her shoulder and tromped to the bench at the curb. She had three hours to wait for the bus to Portland. She was tired, and belatedly she realized had the opportunity to snag some traveling snacks but - who would have guessed the back water town wouldn't have vending machines at the bus station? Her belly rumbled again. She would get to Portland's airport, and then fly to where her mother would be waiting for her and everything would be perfect once more. Even if her dad would make a big deal about her being with her mother, she would tell the judge that her father was responsible for killing a man. Yes. He had a criminal record already. She could be just as innocent on the stand as her mother. A perverse thought crossed her mind as she remembered how Earl looked, blue in the face - her father had to have had _some_ of that medicine – maybe he was dead, right now. That would make things MUCH simpler. She didn't know why that other man had died. That wasn't her fault - those things just happened.

A shadow crossed over her as an older woman sat down next to her.

"Things just don't happen, dearie, they are caused for reasons."

Molly turned her head and regarded the slender older woman with wispy reddish grey hair and twinkling blue eyes. She knew better than to even begin to start a conversation with this woman.

"For example, that young man who walloped you today at the hospital. He had been told not to hit his sisters, but your not related to him, and you rather did need it… though most adults would say you needed a bit more sometimes… You should know - he doesn't have a dog."

"What? Who the hell are you?"

"He doesn't have a dog. Someone totally innocent has been hurt tonight because you wanted revenge. She may even lose her unborn children because of the shock she has had, because of your actions tonight. No, the dog you poisoned tonight has never harmed anyone, Sweet little thing, well mannered. Her owner would sometimes take her to the children's ward for the little ones to snuggle next to when they are very ill and have no hope. That won't happen now," the old woman said sadly.

"Lady, I don't know what you are talking about!" Molly said, edging back. She saw the woman blink once and sigh, resigned.

"As careful as you were in preventing your finger prints from getting on the envelope, and other places, you forgot one thing… you left them on the inside of the gloves. Careless of you to leave them where you did as well, they will be found you know."

"Get away from me!" said Molly, standing up and snatching her bag from the floor. She stumbled back, her heart pounding in her chest. She should have tossed the gloves in the water. There was only one thing to do, Molly thought - play 'child in distress…'

"Hey, she's bothering me!" she said, hurrying to the counter where the slim young ticket man stood speaking on the phone. Turning he looked in the direction that she was pointed to.

"Who is?" he asked, curious.

"That smelly old woman! Over there!…"

She saw the puzzled look on his face. "You're the only fare for tonight, no one else is up at this hour around here."

Molly whirled. The woman was gone, but the frantic pounding of her heart didn't stop.

The clock chimed on the corner of the building. She knew she still had an hour to spend there, and if that old lady knew what she had done, if she had seen her … She shook her head. No one had seen her. If they had, then the police would have been there sooner. Snagging her bag she went back to where the chairs were and sat in one where she could watch the comings and goings of the door. Maybe the old woman had snuck in, and was in the ladies' room. Her belly grumbled again. The phone rang at the ticket desk making Molly jump. She was tired too, and had a headache from all the goings-on. Stretching a bit, she heard the ticket counter person say, "Yes, There is one to Portland in an hour …Will do. Thanks for calling."

Yawning Molly pulled her back pack onto her lap; she knew that the man would make sure she would get onto the bus on time. It was late, and she was over tired. Yawning again, she told herself that just closing her eyes for a moment wouldn't hurt.

She thought she heard the screaming of an ambulance rushing by in the sleep world she had entered. Half awake, she heard the man answer the phone again, and say something. None of it mattered. All of this would be forgotten once she was on the sands of the resort with her mother and grandfather. Her lips curled in a smile as she thought about it. Her dreaming was interrupted by the sound of a woman's voice saying to the ticket counter man, "Well, She's quite young to be traveling by herself…"

"She said she does it all the time. Glad you were able to call when you did. The line called and said the bus was nearly full tonight."

Jessica nodded, then placed her bag on the counter to be checked in. Sighing she went over where Molly was sitting up eyeing Jessica with wary interest, and tucked under her arm was the portable black light bar. The clerk came over to Jessica and said conversationally. "Saw one of those on an antique show. Do they really work like they say? Can you show me? We've got a while till the bus comes …"

Nodding, Jessica turned on the black light bar, then said to him, "It works better if the lights are turned off…" Grinning he strode to the light switch and flicked them off. Jessica moved it over the bench where she sat. "See here? It's from someone who scraped the wood, probably with one of those rolling back packs by accident. You can see here where the wood is cracking, you may want to get that repaired…"

"Is that all it picks up, wood cracks and scrapes?" he asked, curious.

Jessica kept her voice light. "Oh, anything that has a high salt content, like sea water, or certain fluids will show up. Not like a soda, or milk, but heaver things, like car fluids." She was careful when she raised the black light to bathe Molly in its glow. It illuminated the antifreeze splashes on her shoes and on her pants, all the way up, and even some splashes on her sleeves.

Jessica heard Molly gasp.

"Like antifreeze." Jessica said, finally breaking the silence. Even in the black light's glow, Jessica could see the look of defiance upon Molly's face and that Molly had opened her mouth to deny it. The light switched on across the room. Mort stood there next to the light holding a plastic bag with the gloves in it. One of them was turned inside out, and she could see, once her eyes adjusted to the light, the trace of black powder that had been used to dust for fingerprints.

"Already had your prints on my desk. It was Mrs. F's idea to check the dumpster lids for traces of the antifreeze … It's all over the gloves, and some of it got on the envelope that you dropped when you fell when you put it on Taylor's deck. I will bet a dollar to a dime that the mud on your pants will match the soil of their yard, and the grass stains as well. We've a few plaster casts of your shoes, too."

Molly picked up her bag and swung it in an arc at Mort, who stepped back as she bolted from the room to the exit. Mort didn't give chase, he only looked at Jessica and sighed as the sound of a THUMP and Molly's cursing echoed in the room. Turning he walked calmly where she sat on the floor rubbing the palm of her hand.

"We took the precaution of securing the exits before we woke you up. I understand you may be a minor, but there is something you should know," said Mort as he reached behind to unclip his cuffs. "We take murder seriously. Molly Bishop, you're under arrest for animal cruelty, the murder of Earl Shapp, abuse of a corpse and conspiracy to commit the murder of Harrison Bishop. We found the medicine bottle that you left behind, the one your mother faked the prescription for. You may also be interested to know that a warrant has been served against your mother as a co-conspirator. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney, if you can not afford an attorney one will be provided for you by the state of Maine. You have the right to wave these rights at any time. Do you understand them?"

Shrugging then giving him a nod, she felt him pull her to her feet then put the cuffs on him. "So, I get remanded to the custody of my family and pay a fine … I have money," she said coldly.

Mort tilted his head as he slipped her bag into a large plastic bag and sealed it, writing his initials on the seal. "I guess you didn't understand what I said - we take murder very seriously here. Your mother will be charged separately, as such with her incarceration, her wishes for your care are superceded by your father's. You mother will be spending the next thirty years in prison. You, on the other hand, won't be seeing the outside of a prison cell until the day they you are taken out in a body bag. Nor will you be able to see any of your mother's family due to the nature of your crime. If your father's family wishes to see you, they may. I wouldn't count on it, though. This isn't something that is going to go away with a check book, young lady. Which reminds me: according to the bank records that were provided, there was $7000 that was in that envelope. The bank did record the serial numbers of every single one of those bills. If they happen to show up in anything that you have, you will be facing additional charges of theft as well. Why on earth would you want to poison your own father?"

Her eyes flashed as they narrowed. "I hate him," she said simply. "Mom wanted him out of the way, and I was happy to help her."

"That's a shame," said Jessica softly. "Because the entire time the EMT's were working on your father, his only concern was for you. He said to tell you that he loves you."

Jessica watched as Molly's face twisted as if she had handled something repugnant. "I'm not one bit sorry for what I did. That – Earl was trying to take MY money for something I didn't even do! Stupid dorkkie Daddy GAVE him MY MONEY to make thing right! He was already dead when I got there anyway! I didn't kill him. And I don't believe that the dog didn't belong to that snot-nosed kid from the hospital. He was buying a doggy squeak toy for it yesterday. No one just buys a toy for a dog if they don't have one!"

Shaking her head Jessica corrected Molly. "Ian was helping my great nephew Frank pick one out for Frank's dog. The dog you happened to poison belonged to my neighbor, who owns a very special little dog who didn't deserve any harm come to her."

"Like I would want to care?" answered Molly with deep sarcasm.

Mort shook his head, sighing "Lets go, 'Princess," he said, sighing.

Molly balked. Bending her knees she sat back on the floor. If there was one thing that she learned, it was how to become an immovable object when her father wanted her to go some where. Clamping her mouth shut she knew one other thing that had always gotten her way. Mort raised an eyebrow as she turned purple and slumped to the side. In a few seconds her color returned, accompanied by the sound of soft snoring.

"What the …?" said Mort softly.

Jessica stifled a giggle. "Exhaustion, no doubt. Something she didn't count on happening… Well, it looks like your job has just become easier, Mort… though I have a better place in mind to keep sleeping beauty."

"Oh? And where would that be?"

Taylor paced in her kitchen glancing at the phone. Willie came from the back of the house with his knuckles bandaged and regarded his wife.

"Dearest Wife, Angela knows her craft. She will hook her up to fluids and stay with her for the night. I know it's natural to fret so, but you're here because of the fret - and our little ones. You need to be calm now…"

"I am calm … I just need to – walk a bit before I find the person who did this and beat them senseless. She's been a part of my life – she's saved me… and if it wasn't for her curiosity, we might never have met. I'm angry and I'm scared, and I can't relax, I keep feeling the night won't let me sleep because the evening isn't done yet. I feel as if I should be there - I know I can't be holding her paw, but, in case…"

The brisk ring of the phone interrupted her. Willie stepped back picking it up off of the cradle. Taylor could hear the panicked voice at the other end and was striding across the kitchen to the dining room where Willie's medical bag was. Willie hung up the phone and clutched the bag.

"Come along, you'll need to know," he said, leading her across the back through Jessica's rose garden to the back porch. It wasn't locked - Jessica never locked her back door except when she was away.

Frank came flying halfway down the steps. "She's up here!" he exclaimed then ran back up to his mother's room.

Willie took the steps two at a time. Taylor hesitated, stepping into the parlor for a moment she went to Ian and stood in the door watching him sleep with a peaceful smile on his face. She was about to turn when she saw movement at the front door. Curious, she went and opened the door. A slender older woman with wispy reddish grey hair and twinkling blue eyes regarded her.

"I saw the lights on, I'm an old friend, is there anything I can do? Would you wish for me to sit with Ian while you help your husband?" Taylor found herself nodding and allowing the woman to come in. There was a thudding of footsteps behind them.

"Willie needs some bath towels and I can't reach them."

Taylor looked back at the elderly woman. "Go on dear. Everything will be fine."

Nodding, Taylor followed Frank up the steps to the linen closet then into the bedroom where Donna lay drenched in sweat.

"I called the emergency number and told them it was time for the baby, but, they said that both of the ambulances were in use, and Dr. Hazlitt is at the hospital. She didn't want you to be the one, you know … but I do."

"Frank, you, know it's much too early for all of this," said Taylor gently.

She saw Frank take Donna's hand and sit on her bedside. "I know."

Ian's nose twitched as he drew in a gentle breath. Something smelt familiar, of home, of his mothers embrace. Rubbing away the sleep in his eyes he saw someone sitting on the side of the sofa, holding his other hand. His face broke into a grin, then a puzzled frown.

"It's lovely to see you again, but what are you doing here?"

"I had a bit of a word, with your gram the other day, and she said there was a need, so I came," Aurth stated in a matter-of-fact tone. She didn't let go of his hand as she sat waiting for him to absorb what she had said. For a moment Ian puzzled over her words turning his face curious he regarded her before looking up to the room where Donna was.

"Isn't that why I am here?" he asked, curious.

Bending over Aurth kissed Ian's forehead. "Someday, after a long journey, you may take that path again. But not today."

"But they haven't found that doctor you told me about… and nae what they are doing has made a difference. I know what they speak of Aurth. Let it be me an ye can go on helping people. I'm na important enough to fret over. I'm only another mouth to feed for the family…" he said, touching her thin arm with his hand.

"Ian. We spoke of this before… "

Ian flung his arms around her and clung to her for a moment. "Whereever my path leads, I wish it to cross yours many times," he said.

She gave him a kiss on the head, then slipping from his arms she disappeared into the darkness. Ian laid back down on the sofa, tears spilling over his cheeks. He could hear the voices upstairs - Frank's, urgent, choked with emotion, Willie's guiding, scolding, Taylor's voice he couldn't make out. He knew the walk up the steps would nearly finish him. He had to know though. Struggling to sit up he grabbed the edge of the sofa and saw Jessica's cane leaning against the arm of it. It was agony, each step sending a jolt through him as he clumped up the steps. For a moment he thought he saw Aurth standing at the side of the bed, with her hand on Frank's shoulder.

A rushing silence filled the room. Ian saw Willie lift a tiny bundle upward , then lay it down, bending over it, Willie raised his head, blood was on his mouth and he lowered his head again for a moment, then raised it. Ian walked around to the foot of the bed and touched Donna's foot with his small hand. He held onto her big toe as the rushing noise filled his head allowing him to hear a heart beat not so far away.

There was a sound in the silence. A mewling sound reached Ian's ears as his tears splashed down onto Donna's cold foot. Willie looked up, there were tears on his face as he lifted the tiny bundle into his arms wrapping it in the fluffy towels. Donna's foot jerked beneath Ian's hand. A moan issued from her as she stirred.

Carefully Willie placed the tiny baby in her arms. "It's a wee lass. She's beautiful. She has red hair and the bluest eyes I ha ever seen," said Willie to Donna, who was craning her neck about to see her newborn child.

"She's so tiny…" said Donna softly as the wail of the ambulance sirens came closer to the house. She regarded Willie curiously. "It happened just like in my dream, but, why didn't I die?"

Ian spoke softly from the end of the bed. "It wasn't your time to follow that path, Mum."

Donna glanced down at him - he was still holding onto her toe. For a moment their eyes met, and then she nodded.

Mort drained the old coffee into the sink and with a slow swish of warm water rinsed out the pot before placing cold water in it to refill the machine. Letting it brew a while he dug into his pocket and withdrew several quarters, plunking them into the hospital vending machine. They had been in the emergency waiting room when the ambulance with Donna and Willie had arrived. Taylor had followed in her car with Ian and Frank, and waited with Jessica while Seth and Willie went up to the nursery floor with Donna and baby Fletcher. Mort had been there when the baby had opened her eyes and fixed Seth with such a look - and then made a cooing noise followed by a sigh, and a sleepy smile. He had never seen a child that small - yet, the doctors who had peeked in on her had said everything seemed fine thanks to the resuscitation Willie had given her when she was born.

The hospital had placed the baby in an incubator in Donna's room and for a while Ian sat next to the incubator before placing his hand in. The nurse was about to scold him when they saw the most remarkable thing. The baby wrapped her tiny hand around his pinky, and sighed. Her vital signs improved and she breathed easier. They could hear him speaking to the baby, but only Willie could understand what he was saying. When asked, Willie smiled. "A bed time story…" he said then gave Ian a once over with a raised eyebrow.

After washing his hands Frank walked over to the incubator and shoved a chair beside it, sat and placed his hand in the waldo on the other side. Following what Ian had done, he felt his little sister wrap her hand around his finger as well.

Willie could see the nurse beginning to bristle. Such things were not done on her ward. It was only at the request of Dr. Hazlitt that the child had been brought into Donna's room instead of the nursery with the other babies. Baby Fletcher had been born at home, had been exposed to germs already, had had to be resuscitated. Nothing that would be done at this point could change what Baby Fletcher's chances would be.

"Mom? What are we going to name her?" asked Frank, playing his thumb over her tiny fingers. Not getting a response he looked up. Donna was curled up on her side watching the two boys, a sadness on her face.

"I … we will wait until your father comes home. It has to be a family decision," she said at last.

Jessica watched as Donna clutched the blanket fabric, needing something to hold on to. She stood from the chair in the corner she had been sitting in and said softly, "I'm going to stretch my legs for a bit, I'll be back shortly."

Outside the room Jessica walked down the hall to where the window looked out over the parking lot. A warm hand touched her shoulder. She turned into Seth's arms and laid her head on his chest.

"The baby doesn't seem real to her, Jessica. Donna understands the odds, and she is distancing herself from her child because she knows if she gives the baby a name, Baby Fletcher becomes real, and losing her is that much harder."

Squeezing away the tears Jessica said firmly, "We are not going to lose her! We can't… We can't lose her." Balling up her fists she placed them on his shoulders. "We have to do everything we can, and then some to… to…" Words failed her as she opened her eyes and saw the sorrow on Seth's face as he shook his head slowly.

"She's too young, Jessica. Too underweight. Donna knows that. We can provide hydration, and nutrition and comfort measures, but it's only a matter of …"

Seth saw anger in Jessica's eyes as his voice faltered. She stepped back from him, distancing herself. "I am tired of losing friends, and family members just because doctors give up and refuse to try! If traditional medicine will fail, then isn't it time that something nontraditional is used? Look what happened when Ian reached in the incubator and she took his finger! Didn't her vitals improve? I've read where the youngest preemie responds to touch far better than any medication or treatment protocol, where they had given up on the children - holding them and the physical touch heals …"

Sighing, Seth lowered his head. "Dear, even if Baby Fletcher survives the night, and tomorrow, and grows up… there are hundreds of birth defects she may face that we don't know about now… mental challenges."

"Then we will face them Seth. I need to know right now if you're just going to do nothing, or will you help?" Jessica demanded. She saw the look on Seth's face.

"You know I will do everything I can, Jessica, and that this baby is as dear to me as my own," Seth said softly, using the palm of his hand to wipe away her tears. "Now if you are quite done, I think its time that Taylor and Willie get Ian back to his own bed. I know I won't be able to budge Frank away from her side, so perhaps you can take Ian's place and tell her some bed time stories, or at least about the people who love her. Maybe Donna needs to hear that, too."

They passed Willie who was speaking to a nurse at the station as they went in. He nodded to them and took a breath before heading for the elevator and walking down the hall towards the sound of someone speaking in a very loud demanding voice. There was no easy way to do this. Gathering up himself he strode into the room where Jordan was wide awake and glaring at the orderly who had pushed her bed to one side and was bringing in another bed.

"I'm to always have a private room!" she snarled to the hapless orderly.

"Ah, well, _Deirfiúr_

_,_ that's because no one here wishes to be your room mate, and I am sure the young lass who is going to be moved in here will be wishing the same soon enough. But it's the only empty bed that the hospital has that's available, and perhaps some good may come of it after all."

Willie closed the doors as the orderlies went out, shaking their heads. He knew that Molly was downstairs getting evaluated and admitted, and run through the tests that CYS had required from what Seth had told him. She would be a bit

"I don't care if the young lady sleeps in the hall!" said Jordan, glaring at him, her voice shaking in fury.

"Hold your gab, Jordan. It's nae by much choice that she is here or you – an' it's either here or a jail cell. She's nae even ten and she's just like you, save that she hates her father enough to wish him harm, and she's killed a man tonight. She doesn't see anything wrong with how she feels, or what she did."

"So? That has nothing to do with me."

"_Deirfiúr,_ your mother never taught you anger or hate or greed, you had that all on your own. Consider this a chance to look into a mirror of a younger self, and maybe make a decision of what's right and good for a change."

"Excuse me, but you've mistaken me for someone who cares," Jordan said dryly.

"She poisoned Sydney just to hurt Ian - she harmed an innocent creature. She poisoned a total stranger, and her own father, and then tried to incriminate someone else. She did it because her mother told her to. "

"What do you expect ME to do about it? Wag my finger and tell her no?"

"I would, expect, _Deirfiúr,_ that you would enlighten her as to what is ahead for her. Her father didn't deserve any of this. From what I know of him, he is a good man. An' we know that nothing coming out of her mouth would shock, or offend you. You're well suited for each other."

Fixing him with a glare Jordan fell silent for a moment "You owe me," she said at last.

Willie crossed over to her bedside, bent over and pressed his lips softly to her lips giving her a kiss. "Debt's paid," he said simply before striding to the door and out to where his wife waited.

"Let's gather kin and go home, wife," he said softly.

Jessica settled in where Ian had been sitting and with Baby Fletcher, holding her small finger she softly told her about her uncle Frank and the Fletchers, and the McGills, speaking until her voice was only a whisper. Frank had fallen asleep where he was. Donna lay still curled on her side watching Jessica.

"None of this seems real, Aunt Jessica…" Donna said at last in a soft voice. "I feel different inside. Like I've never know what its like to know love."

The knock on the front door was insistent waking Willie from the tendrils of bliss as Taylor snuggled next to him gathering warmth from him on the cool summer's morning. He kissed his wife softly before rising watching her smile.

"Pants, husband…" she said grinning.

"It could well be Tipper, she doesn't care. She's a doctor herself," he said reaching for just his robe.

"She said she would call first, she knows where the key is under the flower pot. Might be a reporter. Pants, Husband."

"Ahch, alright then, but no shoes… just would have to take them off again when I climb back in with you," he said, reaching over to the chair and grabbing the first thing his hand came in contact with. He heard Taylor's soft chuckle.

Sighing he strode from the room taking a moment to glance through Ian's door to see him still curled up under the covers. The wooden steps were cold under his feet as he scurried down them sideways. They would need an addition, or a change of design, he thought as he crossed the living room. Perhaps the lofts over the kitchen with a door …

His thoughts came to a halt as he opened up the door. A tall, well dressed thin woman with graying hair and hazel eyes regarded him as he stood bare foot with the robe about his shoulders and his wife's powder blue with daisy sweat pants on.

"Good morning, may I help you?" he asked as she blinked rapidly.

"I'm looking for Grady Fletcher. I - I have his address as the place next door, but no one seems to be home. Would you happen to know where he is? I'm Gretchen Bishop."

"Mister Fletcher is in Ireland assisting on a matter for my family. He's nae due until the end of the week, but we've tried to get him on the nearest flight home. From my understanding, he wasn't working with any other clients. What would your interest in him be?"

Gretchen blinked several more times. "I … I don't quite know how to say what I have been told. Grady managed many of my family accounts for years, and while his leaving of the firm was said to be of his choosing, well, he still had access to all of the accounts for my family. Last night a large sum was removed after hours from my niece's account and delivered to Cabot Cove by a special courier. The bank called me right after it happened and I drove all night to get here this morning." She shivered in the brisk morning air that went through her stylish coat as she saw him furrow his eyebrows.

Taking in a breath he opened the door. "Come in out of the cold, lass, I'll make you a cuppa. There are things you might well to be knowing."

Gretchen hesitated, then nodding, entered into the house and glanced about. Offering her a place on the sofa, he started the water for the tea and returned to where she was sitting. He let out a breath and pulled up a chair next to her.

"First, Mister Fletcher was not involved with the funds transfer, your brother did to pay for damages that he was told your niece Molly did to a local shop. An' that's known to the police because the shop owner was found dead last night after the money was delivered. I have only just met your brother Harrison briefly, yesterday. He seems a nice enough chap, though, I am sorry to say your niece's nae the best of children. "

Rolling her eyes, Gretchen groaned. "Oh what's she done now?"

Leaning forward he took her hand in his. "Miss Bishop, there is no easy way to say this except directly: she's been taken into police custody for murder, and conspiracy to commit murder against your brother. Her mother's been arrested as well for it."

"Is Harrison all right? Where is he? What did she do to him?" asked Gretchen with a rising sense of panic.

Willie held onto her hand and placed his other hand on her shoulder to keep her from bolting out the door. "He will be fine in a few days. She's admitted that on her mothers instructions she was to give him a medication to make him sleep, and then she was to join them where they were. Molly decided to, make the arrangement permanent. She placed some in his lemonade, while Earl Shapp was calling on them – he was the shop owner that she destroyed shelves and merchandise in yesterday. Earl got some of the medication ether by accident, or design, and it killed him. Your brother had at least a full meal in him and when he was found, he was alive, and coherent. She snuck out after he had fallen asleep and went to get her money, took it, and then came up here to do more mischief. If she hadn't, there wouldn't have been evidence to connect her to the crime."

"More mischief? What did she do?" Gretchen asked, puzzled.

Ian's voice came from the foot of the steps. "She put down green stuff that poisoned Sydney because she called me names, and I told her to get on with herself, and it came to blows."

Gretchen saw him lean against the wall. Patting the seat beside her she indicated for him to come and sit down beside her. Shyly Ian walked over and sat looking up at her as the whistle for the tea kettle called Willie into the kitchen. Leaning against the counter while the tea brewed he heard Gretchen say to Ian,

"I am very sorry, that she has caused you distress. Her upbringing wasn't by our choice, and we have tried everything we can to change her behavior. Molly's mother married my brother because she believed he was wealthy. Harrison has a talent, a gift, in what he does and he does it very well. He just doesn't have any business sense, and the only thing Julia knows how to do with money is spend it. Harrison did have the sense, though, to insist the bank account of his daughter not have her mothers name on it, and that part of the child support be placed into it. You said she was taken into police custody - where is she now?"

"At the hospital. Na wrong with her, but Aunt Jessica felt it would be a better place for her to spend a few nights. She has very special room mate." Willie saw the curious glance Gretchen gave him.

Molly woke and tried to sit up. Frowning she opened her eyes to find herself in bed and something on her wrists that were wrapped with lambs wool. She gave a tug to free herself and found that she couldn't move.

"HEY! WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?" Molly shouted. She heard a creak of springs to her left and turned her head. "HEY GET ME OUT OF THIS ******* THING!"

"Shut up," said a tired voice behind the curtain near the source of the creak.

"What? How ****** DARE you tell me to shut up!" Molly snapped.

"I said SHUT UP!" said the voice.

"Who the **** do you think you are?" demanded Molly.

There was a chuckle of grim satisfaction from behind the curtain. "More trouble than your worth." A long gripper hand poked at the edge of the curtain and moved it out of the way. Jordan turned her head and looked directly at Molly as the child continued to try to escape. Frustrated, Molly turned at the sound of the curtain pulling and gasped in shock. Jordan's bandages had been removed showing the angry burns on her face and her eye, sunken back in the socket.

"I'm you, in about thirty years, if you live that long. Selfish, manipulative - you name a commandment, I've broken it more than once. You might think I got what I deserved… and you may be right. But when I look at you, I don't see a pretty little girl, I see a monster, like me…"

"I'M NOT A MONSTER!" snarled Molly. She saw Jordan begin to laugh, and watched, puzzled, as the laughter continued. "What's so funny, bitch?"

Jordan regarded Molly still smiling. "You…" she said with a grin. "You don't even recognize what you are. Not even a proper monster at that. I always knew I was a monster, and I was proud of it. There are times when its good, and times when its bad… You're bad at it because you don't know when to stop. You don't know the difference between hurt, and harm… Hurt, you can get away with for years… Harm, you get caught at, which you did. And then its game over."

Molly regarded Jordan with an icy glare. "You got caught because you were stupid you mean," she said contemptuously. She saw Jordan sigh.

"I got caught, because I did something very selfish. I forgot that others loved me for myself. I did learn that family is often more forgiving than strangers are, and that, in the end, there are all kinds of hurt in the world, you end up hurting yourself, more than others."

"I don't care. He was mean to my mother, and I hate him." Molly spat back at her. "I don't want to have him a part of my life at all."

"Did you ever see him being mean to her?" Jordan asked curious. She saw Molly's hesitation.

"My mom said he was mean to her," Molly said finally.

"Ohhhh, I see. And was he ever mean to you?"

Molly snorted. It was half a laugh, and half an exclamation of contempt. "Lots of times. He would take my things away from me and lock them up so that I would have to do things with him, Like stupid lame ass trip. And he sent me to bed with out supper last night. I'd say that was mean."

"You had nothing to eat all day?" pressed Jordan.

"Well … I did have a couple candy bars …" Molly admitted.

"That you stole," said Jordan, raising an eyebrow as she watched the young girl pull back, startled that Jordan would know that.

Jessica looked up at the sound of footsteps entering into the room. She hadn't realized that she had dozed off with her hand still in the waldo, still having Baby Fletcher holding tightly onto her finger. Donna was asleep, finally. Frank was awake, humming a nameless lullaby. She turned her head and focused on Seth who was regarding the incubator, and the baby within – watching the even breathing of the child. From the hour, she knew his shift was done. His voice was low as he approached them.

"I've been able to get a hold of Grady, he is on his way home … and I was able to take a peek at Earls autopsy report. There wasn't enough Phenobarbital in his system to kill him, even with the mixture of alcohol and anti-depressants in his bloodstream. There was, however, enough of a certain tranquilizer in his blood to stop a bull elephant from charging at Macy's and several round puncture marks on his chest from darts that delivered it. The type that Tipper uses. Two of them that close to the heart, in that dose would have killed him with in seconds."

"Seth, she was with Willie – she wouldn't have!" Jessica saw the struggle on Seth's face.

"Andy found them, and when he did he got a search warrant, and looked into Tipper's car, and found the case under the back seat with two of them missing - her prints are on them, on the case, and no one else's. Mort's asleep now, so Andy took it upon himself to do it, Mort doesn't know … Andy is going to wait until Mort is awake before serving the warrant for her arrest," Seth explained with a sigh.

"You don't believe Angela would do that!" said Frank with worry in his voice. Frank saw Jessica regard him, pressing her lips together.

She allowed herself to breath. "No, we don't. Though she was in the area prior to his death, just a few doors up from where he was found, and she did say she went to see him to clear her sheet, and if the prints are on the darts, it – complicates things," Seth replied.

Shaking her head Jessica tried to keep the panic out of her voice. She could see Baby Fletcher was regarding her, and panic was not something that she wanted to relay to this precious bundle. "There has to be another reason for all of it… Seth, do you know where she is at right now?"

She saw Seth nodding. "She's still at her clinic- spent the night there. You're thinking of interfering with a police investigation, aren't you?" he inquired with a bit of scolding in his voice.

Frank looked at Jessica, a silent pleading in his eyes. She gave him a small unexpected wink then looked back to Seth.

"Not at all. I would be appreciative, though, if you would take me to the clinic to see how Sydney is doing, and if she is well enough, perhaps transport her back to Taylor's house. I know that Willie will be coming here later, and that it would be great relief for Taylor to have Sydney home again."

Sighing, Seth nodded then watched as Jessica murmured something to Baby Fletcher and Frank. She extracted her hands from the waldo and slowly stood up. He knew that from all of those hours here Jessica needed sleep in her own bed, but she wouldn't rest until she knew all was well with her family. And Tipper was family. The notion that she would use the tranqs on Earl was ridiculous. She had threatened to kill him, though… Seth let out a slow and steady breath. He hoped Andy was wrong.

Jessica noticed that the sign on the door to the animal clinic said CLOSED and the hours of the clinic notified people that it would open at ten. Seth took a breath and withdrew a key from his key ring and inserted it into the lock and knocked on the door as he opened it. There was no answer from with in. Jessica regarded Seth, who shrugged.

"Shared pharmacy. Walt Trudy and that new dentist have one too. It makes more sense to have a centralized pharmacy to keep extras in a pinch than to wake up someone over in Portland."

Closing the door behind them and latching it, Jessica followed Seth through the waiting room back to where the animals were kept if they were staying over night. The walls around the door were covered with small needle-sized holes working their way up from the base of the door frame to just above at shoulder length. In a small doggie bed that had been placed on the desk lay Sydney hooked up to an IV. She was covered with a square of a blanket and they could see Tipper sitting at the desk with her head down on the keyboard. Jessica touched Tipper's shoulder waking her up. With a groan Tipper sat up and looked around with a foggy expression.

"Good morning," Seth said to her, trying to hide a grin.

"What?" Tipper asked, narrowing her eyes at him

"I believe the medical term is known as Keyboarditis," Jessica murmured.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. What time is it?" she asked, blinking as she leaned over Sydney and checked the flow rate of the IV.

"A bit after 8. Tipper, tell me about the darts for your tranq gun?" asked Jessica.

She saw Tipper yawn, and cover her mouth, then shrug. "Not much to them, they have two types, one that are pre-loaded, but those are for when we have to go after larger animals, say a moose or bear wanders into town, the others are loaded here, and then tagged with the right dosage, if we know were going after a porcupine. When we get a shipment in, they are counted and weighed - sometimes they get under dosed by accident then they are repacked in the box. We keep both here/ I carry a few in my trunk as well as one of the tranq guns. We have three for this practice, and the game commission has two - we load the darts for them too. When they are spent, or if they are duds, we turn them in for their brass, and the CO2 cartridges get reloaded."

"Who did the CO2 re loading?" asked Seth, curious.

"Earl at the mini mart. He had the permit to handle the gas as a side to his bait and tackle corner. They were shipped to him too sometimes, there was a bunch of tree huggers who were tagging the white tail deer population a week ago. Earl had me load a few dozen for them. Why?" inquired Tipper curiously.

A familiar cough in the door caused them all to turn their heads to see a very tired Mort standing in the door frame.

"The stuff in the darts - your darts to be specific - was what killed Earl," Mort sighed

"What? No way! How?" gasped Tipper, shocked.

For a moment Mort just looked at Tipper. It was evident from the shock on her face she didn't have any idea about the darts. He knew he should have been furious with Doc Hazlitt and Mrs. F for coming over to question Tipper before he could - but in a way, he wanted in his heart to believe that the young woman he knew, respected and cared for would be incapable of such a deed.

"When the blood work came back on Earl, they found a lethal dose in his system, and Andy went back to the store and found two of them with your prints on that had Earl's blood on the tip, He obtained a search warrant for your car and discovered the box that had the serial numbers from the darts, and two of them were missing on the back seat covered with a coat," Mort finished as he watched Tipper shake her head with disbelief.

"But I don't secure my darts in the car area - they have a case that's locked in the trunk with the tranq gun - and that one's full. You know that, Mort - ever since that deer hit my car I can't get the door to lock and I wouldn't keep anything like that in the car," Tipper said with exasperation.

Mort found Seth, Jessica and even Sydney regard him as he leaned against the door frame. "How do you explain only your fingerprints were found on the darts, and the box?" he inquired, raising his eyebrow as he studied the young woman before him. He watched as her eyebrows furrowed as she struggled to answer.

"I've probably handled every single dart that's come into this county, Mort, but the thing is, once they get loaded into the gun and fired, the energy exchange as they go through the barrels would destroy any of the prints. When I last signed off on the ones that Earl had, he had sixteen boxes of brass waiting to be dosed, three for the tree huggers. I have six boxes, four for small animals, and two for larger. I've got two of the small in my trunk and one for the larger, and the other three are in the back pharmacy area. There is a log book that lists each of the darts and that's with them in the pharmacy area - anyone that uses them has to sign off on when they were removed. The only reason why my car is parked still in the community lot is that after I went to see Earl yesterday after dinner I checked in on Millie's kittens and had dessert with them. I went to Willie's shop, and talked to him. He had seen Earl after I did, and he was alive enough to try to pick a fight with Willie, then I got two calls on my pager both from Earls pay phone, Willie went with me and we found him dead. A good twenty minutes had passed between the time that I arrived at the shop and when we found him. Then we got the call that Sydney had been poisoned and you drove us up to the house and you brought me here."

"Mind if I check your inventory?" Mort inquired, looking in the direction of the pharmacy. He saw Tipper wave her hand in its direction.

Seth drew in a breath. "I'll go with you, I know where they are." Leading the way, he opened the lock with practiced ease and swung the door open, holding it for Mort. Seth hesitated fighting an irresistible urge to lock the door with Mort inside and to encourage Tipper to run for it. Mort had the knack of dragging the wrong people into jail for half-baked notions. Sighing, he followed Mort in and closed the door between them. He had seen a look in Jessica's eyes when Tipper had been explaining, and he had a notion Jessica had a few quick questions for their favorite vet.

Jessica watched as Tipper checked the IV and bent her head low to murmur in Tippers ear. "When you said that Willie saw Earl after you did, was that when they fought?"

Tipper glanced up at Jessica. Just as softly she said with worry in her voice "He said that Earl was at his door step drunk as a skunk and he took a swing at him because he had sent Kent Fordham to prison - he's due to go to the chair in two days and that Earl was in a state - that he said he would see Willie and his family dead before Kent was, and that Earl started the fight when he turned about. He said he dumped a bucket of water for the dogs over his head and left him outside his shop nursing a headache. Jess - the Mini Mart is three blocks away. No one said they saw the two of them fighting the length of the street, and Willie wouldn't have escorted him back to the Mini Mart…"

Pulling her desk chair over, Tipper guided Jessica to sit down in it and watched her as she saw her face pale. "Jessica?" What is it?"

The sound of the men returning from the pharmacy area made Jessica shake her head as she tried to digest what Tipper had said. She had seen Willie before as he fought Kent, the righteous anger against him for what Kent's family had done to Willie's. The sole comfort she had was that the beating Earl had from illie wasn't what had killed him. She couldn't shake though the cold feeling that something more had happened.

"Well, yours are all accounted for, and now that we know how many boxes we are dealing with, we can figure out where they came from." Mort waved the clip board that had the serial numbers "Why do you do all of these numbers anyway - they are just darts…" he asked curious.

Tipper didn't answer at first as she carefully withdrew the IV from Sydney's neck. "We treat them just like we do the syringes that have medication in them. They have a shelf life, and it's easier to know the date by the serial number than rely on guessing or a number scrawled on the side of the box. If they get too old, it may not work and if you need to drop a bull moose, you have to be sure to do it in one shot."

"What about that group, the one you called the tree huggers, they would have to have a permit then… how does that work?" pressed Mort. He watched as she took great care to swab the area and tape a square of gauze to Sydney's neck.

She waved a hand to the clip board. "Each one they buy would be logged and they have a deposit they pay if they aren't returned. When they do return the spent ones, they get the deposit back. They don't travel that far and they are easy to find. We've only lost about five of them to damage over the last four years. That happens when they hit a tree instead of the animal." Tipper moved the blanket that covered Sydney and checked the bag that was hooked to her.

Both Mort and Jessica heard Seth say, "Damn" and looked at him in surprise.

Tipper emptied the bag, sealed it then removed the tubing before recovered Sydney with the blanket. "Syd's had other health issues. The antifreeze and everything else, just made it worse. There is nothing more that I can do for her," she said simply, tears coming to her eyes. Pressing her eyes tightly for a moment she opened them and then looked at Mort.

"How did you get a copy of my prints anyway?" she asked her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Mort hesitated. When he first had acquired them he had been pleased with how he had done it. Now he found himself swallowing, his mouth dry. Anyway that he would say it, she would become angry with him, at the very least, demonstrate the use of that sleeve she had.

"After you ducked out on him twice when he tried to fingerprint you the time that this Nightshade nonsense broke, Mort followed up on your gun permit, and obtained a copy of them from the state. They've been framed behind his desk on the wall for the last couple of years. He used them as a teaching aid for Andy and Floyd – its probably how they were able to make a match so fast with the darts and the box," supplied Seth.

Holding his breath, Mort waited for an explosion from her that didn't come.

"What now?" asked Mort finally to Jessica as Tipper bundled Sydney in her blanket and lifted her into her arms.

"I think a few hours sleep in familiar surroundings would be an excellent idea. If Sydney is well enough to be released, we can take Tipper to Willie's with us when Seth drops me off, and then to her home. Things may be come clearer then," stated Jessica. She saw Mort's eyebrows flick upward. She could tell he knew perfectly well there was something she had learned from Tipper when the two of them were checking the darts. He knew he could make an issue of it. He knew, just as simply, he could let Jessica come to him when she had it all figured out. There was more to the evenings events, more to what every one was saying. In all the years that he had worked with Jessica, she had always been honest with him, never doing it just to get publicity for the books or to show him up. There was an element of trust that he held for her. She didn't flinch as he looked her in the eye. What ever she knew involved someone she deeply cared about.

"Pecan Pie" he said at last folding his arms over his chest. Jessica made the best Pecan pie he had ever had. If he was going to wait on what she knew, it at least had to be worth his while. He watched as Tipper bit her bottom lip and looked down at Sydney. "and a mince meat…" he nodded. "And I won't think of it as a bribe."

The two women glanced at each other. Seth chimed in. "I'll do the peach pear pie…" Mort turned and regarded Seth. He couldn't help but to blurt out "What makes you think Willie did it Doc? Because that it the only person left in the mix that Mrs. F would want to have time to talk with before deciding what to do. You don't even make your peach pear pies for the hospital charity events- so it had to be someone in the family and you have a fair idea why or you wouldn't offer." Mort eyed Tipper as she looked down at Sydney. She couldn't meet his gaze. He sighed and pulled up another chair for her and sat on the edge of the desk. "You'd better tell me everything."

Sighing Tipper sat down still holding Sydney in her arms, She didn't speak for a moment as she weighed her words. "He called me from his cell, and asked if I could meet him at his shop. When I arrived he was working on his loom, he does that when he has to think. His knuckles were bashed up from the fight with Earl, he said that Earl was waiting for him at the shop door and that he left him at the door after dumping a bucket of dog water on his head. He said Earl went on about Kent, and that he would see Willie and his family dead before Kent was. I wanted to get them cleaned up and he said to leave it. He… he told me that you had asked him to help establish the testing center and he wanted me to help at it… he said that, Ian, wanted to go home, back to Ireland because he knew he was going to die and that when they would go, they wouldn't be coming back, that, Taylor wouldn't be able to make the return flight. He knew how close Ian and Frank have become, and that it would be best for Frank to only know that Ian went quietly in his sleep, not, dieing by the inches. "

Letting out a long slow breath Mort shifted on the corner of the desk. "The timing is off. We have a statement from Elisa Trudy, we found the insurance claim for the damages on his counter and called her. She arrived after Willie and Earl got into it, and he was very much alive when the currier came with the envelope. Unless you have other reason to think he was involved after she left? Willie doesn't seem like the type to be skulking in the bushes…"

Mort watched Tipper shake her head before glancing over to Jessica. Her face still held the same pale expression. Jessica noticed that Mort was looking at her.

"Brandied Rhubarb," she said at last. Mort almost fell off of the desk.

"Mrs. F, that's a bribe." He had heard about that pie from the last Cabot Cove Fall Festival, heard that it went so fast at twenty-five dollars for a very thin slice that even the pie pan had been snatched up by Sam and he had been found in the closet of the kitchen area licking the juice from the bottom. That one pie had brought in almost five hundred dollars for the Theater renovation fund.

Jessica pinched her lips together making a thin line. She couldn't look at Mort for a moment.

He gripped the edge of the desk and for a moment he regarded her. "What time did Taylor leave your house to let Sydney out? We have it on Tipper's pager for the time that she called. She went over to feed her, and then to let her out but only you would be able to tell us the time that she went over to her house. She was alone, and I don't see her as the type to stand there watching her dog eat. She doesn't have an alibi for that time, does she? And that occurred to you – when?"

Ian opened the door for Tipper and Mort. He could see that Jessica had a sad look on her face and that Seth was somber as well.

"The wee lass is alright, isn't she?" he asked, allowing them to enter. "Ohh, is Sydney better then? Aunt's still in distress with na having her. Uncle's gone up to see why she didn't come down when company was here." He watched as Tipper placed Sydney on the floor and she slowly made her way to the steps and the clatter of her little toenails informed them she was on her way up them. "You just missed Ms Bishop, Tha's Molly's aunt, she's on the way to the hospital to sort things out for her brother Harrison."

From upstairs a loud howl echoed off of the walls. Ian gave a start and crossed himself "Banshees!" he gasped, stepping to Jessica for protection.

Faint words of memory came to Tipper as she heard Sydney howl.

"_Why didn't you let go?"_

"_I was told not to…" _

Upstairs the howls stopped, then Willie came down stairs and saw Mort and Seth looking concerned. "Everything is fine. Wife was getting dressed and Miss Sydney didn't like the door to be closed between them. Why are you all looking so somber?" he asked, curious as Taylor's footsteps were heard coming down the stairway slowly.

"Mort's reasoned that Tipper doesn't have an alibi," said Seth a bit gruffly.

Willie blinked in surprise. "Oh. I expect she doesn't but would she be needing it? She wouldn't risk the children for a squabble with Earl, nor did she have a way of knowing anything was amiss. She was with Jessica until she came to feed Sydney."

Mort blinked a few times. "Fine. We will leave your statement as that unless I find something else. I understand taking her in won't do her health any good. In the meantime, perhaps it would be a good idea if Doc escorts Mrs. F. and Tipper over to Mrs. F.'s house and tuck them in while Willie has a brief discussion with Ian regarding horticulture."

Opening her mouth and then closing it, Tipper was about to say she didn't need tucked in and drawing in a breath said to Mort. "I'm okay. I will do better in my own bed. I just have a message for Willie and Taylor before I head home."

Mort gave a curt nod then escorted the three out the side door and after instructing Ian to stay on the back porch, he helped Seth take Jessica home.

Tipper took a breath and bent her head low so that she wouldn't be over heard as she whispered to both Willie and Taylor, "The woman last night - the one who came to the shop, she had a message for you … at least I – she said she could never pronounce your name properly - I guess it must be you …. 'that ivy and clover may grow anywhere, but a bird will only nest when its safe, and that it is now safe to nest.' I don't have a clue as to what it means…"

"What did she look like?" Taylor asked, curious.

"She was older, her hair had to be red at one time, and she had twinkling blue eyes. I know most everyone in town, and she's not a resident." She watched as Willie drew in a breath and for a moment he said nothing. Giving a nod to her he thanked her for taking care of Sydney then went out on the back porch and closed the door between them. Her attention was drawn to the serious look upon his face.

"What's he on about?" Tipper watched as Willie's brow furrowed.

"Something's been planted that shouldn't have been," Taylor answered. In silence they watched Willie walk around to the outside of the deck until he stood level with Ian who listened to what Willie was saying. There was a curious expression on Ian's face as he looked between the slats of the deck then back to Willie, clearly paying attention. She watched as Ian's shoulders sagged slightly then tearing her gaze away from what was happening outside she glanced back at Taylor.

"Do you have any idea what that woman meant?" Tipper asked, curious. "Willie said last night that, well, you were leaving to take Ian back home to ... to die and that you wouldn't be coming back." Tipper's closed her eyes for a moment.

She heard Taylor sigh before saying, "Willie is afraid."

"Of what? He was going on about the children being born smaller - something about a recessive gene. With triplets they will be smaller of course, but – still …"

"Willie always believed that each generation was taller than the next, but finding his father, he realized that it wasn't so. Toot's taller than Willie, Ian is the next generation. They are getting, smaller," explained Taylor carefully.

"Size doesn't matter! What is he so afraid of? Being teased? And I don't believe Ian is going to die, I can't believe it. He is doing better now. He looks better. I've never known you to be the one to give up or in, Taylor, let alone give up on something you have fought so hard for. Tell me what is going on!" Tipper demanded. She watched as a sad expression came over Taylor's face.

"Every myth has some grain of truth in it - it's what you believe in, actually. If you can believe in something just on faith, anything is possible," began Taylor. She saw Tipper shake her head, not understanding. Taking a breath Taylor took Tipper's hands in hers. "Ivy will grow anywhere, as will clover, but they don't grow together. It has something to do with the soil - either the ivy chokes out the clover, or the clover overruns the ivy. It's a give and take process. Ivy lives on the dying, but clover is different, it puts life back into the soil."

Taylor turned her head looking to where Ian was listening to his Willie. "We can chose, which part we are - do we bring life or death by our hands? We have to decide that you know, every day," she murmured softly. For a moment she was distracted then she looked back into Tipper's eyes.

For a moment the two of them stood in silence before Tipper looked down at Taylor's hands that held her own. It was in that moment that she saw the wedding band. She blinked away the sleep in her eyes and then looked again at the weave upon the band. "Taylor – you're clover and ivy. Your hands bring life, and death. You're guided though by something else and that's Muinin – confidence, reliance, trust, and faith. The bird is a symbol of the one who will lead some one who makes the life and death decisions, someone who has power over others that they can bend them to their will, and they will do anything, to protect that which is theirs.

"That's' – That's – what she was talking about." Tipper gasped. "The bird, and the nest thing … I thought it was a reference to the babies, but its bigger than that." Tipper tried to pull her hands from Taylor but she was held fast by the expression on Taylor's face and the soft words that followed.

"Will it harm anything to let it grow a wee bit more?" inquired Ian as he watched a taxi pull up next to the curb.

Willie didn't say anything for a moment. He had seen the acceptance on Ian's face when he told him about the nature of the plant and how it had been abused by people. He had been resigned to the fact that Mort would want it removed and destroyed or at the very least, used in research.

"It will go to seed soon enough, and then there will be more of it growing next spring and how would I be able to explain that to the sheriff? You're old enough to want for things, and with that comes the responsibility of them. What should be done?" Willie asked, watching Ian look down on the plant.

For a moment Ian regarded it, his small shoulders slumping down. In a breath how ever he looked up at Willie. "There are all and many ways of studying a plant, Uncle. If the thoughts that the sheriff have about studying this plant to see where it comes from are true, then it needs to grow, and seed and grow more. You can' t know if the soil will change what makes up the plant itself in as much as changing the house that a child may live in to see if they become better. Am I just a plant as well to you, Uncle? One that you've placed in the ground to see what grows, or withers away? I'm a far cry different than Zookie and I know what shadows have been in your heart since I came. I'm na going around the twist. I know what I see, and hear to be true, and it's been too long since you have known that in your heart."

Willie grasped the rail of the porch. "Ian lad, I know the path you're looking down. I can take you back, and hide you from the others, or I can hide you in plain sight as Gram did for me. It would do the family no good to lock you in a box to keep you forever safe. There are things that need saying, and things that need be kept with out saying. We are what we are, and some are lucky enough to find people like your aunt who pay no never mind to what others say. Your mothers determined that you hands and path do better than most…"

"Uncle, you can't change my path. I've know for ages what I see an others don't. I speak with Na Mairbh. They haven't burnt any of us for a good, forty years now. I canna be what mum wants or what you want me to be. I have to follow the way that I was born to and you canna turn it," insisted Ian.

"You have to, Ian. You have to work through what you are and work with the path to turn it in the other direction. I know you may not see the harm in following it for a while, but those who see Na Mairbh and speak with them too long become one of them before their time," said Willie as gently as he could.

"You don't know tha' …" Ian's voice faltered as he saw the sadness on Willie's face. "How much ha you told Aunt Taylor? Does she know?"

"I'd na ha brought her into the family blindly," murmured Willie.

Ian placed his small hands over Willies covering the broken skin of his knuckles. "He found out, didn't he. That Earl knew - he was a follower and he knew. Would he have told any one that they would have believed him?" Ian watched as Willie shrugged and shook his head sadly.

"Only three saw him after I did, Tipper, the insurance lady and the person who killed him. He'd not be the type to write that thing down. If he discovered it though, what's to say others haven't? You know now, and you're of age. What would you have me do?" asked Willie gently.

For the longest time Ian looked down through the slats of the deck then he glanced up. "I've something that I've started here, and have to finish before I can answer that. I did something with out knowing and I have to set it right. It may well finish me. I'm like that plant below. Lovely to look at, good for some things, bad for others that want to rip me up by my roots, to burn me and put an end to the nonsense." Ian drew in a breath. "Right then, Zook will be done speaking to Aunt Bea Bea, and will be too tired to drive in to the hospital safely. We can drop Aunt Tipper off at her home for a rest up, and then take him to see the wee lass and it will be done then. She's due to have her first diaper changed and it's time Zookie learns to do it from a professional, though I'll let him handle the gooie part with out the gas mask. Aunt Taylor said she was wanting words with Aunt Jordan today. I will let Aunts know, you tell Zook," Ian said pragmatically nodding to the door

Ian watched from the door of the hospital room as Frank launched himself into his father's arms and clung to him tightly. "Oh Dad," Frank began before the tears came.

For a moment Grady held his son tightly. "Where is your mother?" Grady asked, looking about the room.

"The nurse is taking her for a walk down the hall and she had some test they wanted to do, they said she had to get up for a bit, I told them I would stay with my little sister. Mom's not herself, Dad. She – she doesn't care about the baby. She hasn't even looked once at her, and she doesn't want to give her a name." Frank shook his head sadly.

Glancing at Ian and Willie, Grady returned his gaze down to his son. "Why don't we let Ian and Willie stay with our newest family member, and we can go find your mother. Naming our baby isn't something that just one person can do. All of this was a bit early, and your mother may be tired. If what the doctor has your mother doing will take a while, we can grab some breakfast at the cafeteria."

For a moment Grady stood rooted to the spot as he saw Ian move to the incubator after washing his hands, and then reaching in. Right away a tiny fist wrapped around Ian's finger, holding on.

"She's beautiful," breathed Grady.

Ian looked up bemused. "Ah, ye never know though, unless it experience you've had, Zook, if a wee one will be lovely when they grow up, or plug ugly like my sisters.. Na a pretty one in the bunch. Now, I on the other hand got all of my parents' good looks, an' charm. Go on with ye, I can hear Zookie's belly rumbling from here."

For a moment Ian listened to the footsteps fade down the hallway. Drawing in a breath he glanced up at Willie. "If it's to be done, tell mum an the others I will wait for them."

Willie walked forward and cupped Ian's chin in his hand. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked gently.

Ian let his breath out. "No. Aunt Taylor will be needing you, an if you're here there would be questions you can't answer."

Donna entered into her room and found Ian sitting on her bed holding the baby in his arms. The monitors had been turned off, and all that was on her were the IV tubes and the tiny tube wafting oxygen into her lungs.

"Come here, Mum" he said softly.

With slow steps she walked to the bed and sat on the other side, lifting her feet up to stretch out. She studied Ian as he crooned softly to the baby. "Uncle explained to the nurses that none of those fancy wires will make a difference, an' tha' she should be made comfortable, so they took them off. There is something though, that will make a difference." He said looking into Donna's face, "Here," and handed the baby to Donna, who glanced at it confused and held her daughter stiffly in her arms.

"No, she needs to be cuddled," he chided, pushing her back to lay on the bed and guiding her arms around her daughters tiny frame. For a moment he sighed, then laid his head on Donna's shoulder as he curled next to her. "There are things you should know Mum, about your wee one, an you. It's best to start where you might understand better. When a man marries a woman, well, she's left her family, and she hasn't been bound long to her husband - so – there is a time when she is considered free to chose her path. It's traditional when the bride an' groom are dancing that she keep one foot on the ground at all times so that the wee folk don't ha a chance to take her soul away."

"Her Soul?" she asked, puzzled. She watched him nod.

"Aye. Didn't you know that's where it is? Or the hands of the young ones before they learn to walk on their own feet because they use their hands to reach for the path they chose. Your soul directs you on the path you will follow - your feet carry you there. Why do you think they call the bottoms of feet and shoes Soles?" he explained to her. "The eyes are windows to the soul, too, but not where the soul is found, and all parts of you lead to it. When you're young, you know these things for certain, like the creatures in the closets, and under the bed and how to scare them away with silly names. We hear and see things that adults have forgotten. Some at least - Aunt Tipper's nae forgotten how. It's why she bumps so. She's seeing both worlds, an' it can makes her wonder which way to step. Zookie sees things too." Ian saw the look of sadness in Donna's eyes. "I'm nae addled."

For a moment Ian regarded Donna, his hand touching the blanket that wrapped the tiny baby in her arms. "When she was born, I held onto your soul so you wouldn't go, but I held on too long, an' part of it made a journey. I ha' to give it back to you so you're a proper mother to the lass."

"She's not going to make it," Donna stated in a soft voice. She was surprised to hear Ian giggle.

"Oh, the lass will do fine. She will give you a merry chase an all the love in her heart at that I have that on good authority. Now give me your hand Mum an close your eyes for a tic. You will be back to yourself soon enough."

Jessica had stifled a yawn as she watched from her parlor windows the departure of Grady and the others, then watched as Tipper worked her way back home. While sleep would be welcomed, she was too keyed up to fall asleep so easily. There was a wisdom that Seth had held, that they wouldn't be any use if they were sleep deprived. She stood debating if she should have hot tea or steamed milk when a movement down her walkway caught her attention. The wind blew the wispy red hair about the chubby face of a short woman as she walked with hesitation towards the house half way up the walk, then pausing to look into the contents of the briefcase bag she was carrying she continued to the porch with the wind playing around the legs of her gray pants suit.

"What would Elisa want at this hour?" Jessica wondered out loud as she saw the younger woman come to the front porch and knock on the door. Letting out a gusty sigh Jessica opened the door to see Elisa shuffling papers from her brown portfolio.

"Oh, good morning Jessica, I will only take a moment of your time. It's in regard to the claim that Earl Shapp filed against your nephews, well more precisely your great nephew and cousin's child, but there is still blood relation and custodial merit with the boys. I've checked your policy and such damage is covered under your home owners policy, I just need your signature to release the check to him to pay for the damages."

Clearing her throat Jessica regarded Elisa. "I'm sorry, but I believe Earl will have a difficult time endorsing the check." The young woman glanced up from the papers and regarded Jessica over the rim of her glasses. Her wispy red hair fringed her brow. The girls at the beauty shop had giggled when they first saw Elisa's hair – she had tried to have a perm to straighten it. Their giggles had ended in shock as the hair had begun to break off. It had taken Elisa almost a year to grow it this long, and her gentle curls had all but disappeared leaving a wispy dusting upon her head. She had refused to go to Loretta's ever again. The experience had prompted Elisa to go into insurance claims and over all, she had been an advocate to get the full amount the people were due. Jessica saw Elisa struggle with her next words.

"The money is part of his estate. Earl is survived by a wife who has lost her husband and the source of income. The insurance company intends to pursue this matter so that they are not left holding the brunt of the claim if there are others that are at fault."

"I suggest, Elisa, that you contact the sheriff for a copy of the police report. Earl attacked Ian with out provocation. If your insurance company insists on pursuing this matter, they will find a counter claim filed against the estate for fraud. I am aware that Earl extorted payment from Harrison Bishop, and the police report states you saw the courier arrive with the money, which has been recovered. I'm also aware that Earl demanded payment from Dr. Henderson, and Ian's uncle, and that Earl started a fight that was finished by Dr Razanur. As for losing the source of her income, the store is still there. She chose a long time ago not to be bothered in helping her husband run it. She can sell it if she wishes, or she can go back to work and run it herself. I believe you are sadly mistaken to feel my family and I are easy marks for these shenanigans."

Jessica saw Elisa blink several times with surprise. "Oh no! You don't understand, Jessica, I have to follow form here, I can't be see playing favorites. I have to show the home office and the others that I was following procedure the whole time. Its only been to protect them." Elisa's voice dropped to a whisper. "You see… I know the truth…"

Shaking her head with some confusion Jessica placed her hands on her hips. "The truth about what?"

She saw Elisa look both ways, before leaning forward. "I've known for years, since it first came out. My grandmother knew all sorts of things and she would tell me about them … what to do, incase I would meet someone like him. How to know them …"

"Who are you talking about?" asked Jessica, still puzzled.

"Your Dr. Razanur. I've know all about him, and his kin since I was a little girl. I learned that I would have to treat them the same as I would any other person, even if they are …well … special. My grandmother told me if a good turn was done, then it would come about again ten fold." Abruptly Elisa stopped speaking and clamped her lips together and looked down at her hands where she twisted a ring that had an ivy leaf pattern wrapped around it.

Jessica regarded the young woman and saw the struggle upon her face, as if there was more to say on the matter. "Elisa, I'm sorry. I won't be signing any papers and I have had a rather long day. If you would excuse me, I do need to catch up on my sleep before afternoon visiting hours." She saw Elisa nod.

"Mrs. Fletcher, the world won't miss people like Earl. Well, maybe his friends the tree huggers who use those darts to hunt will, but not any one in Cabot Cove, or even that awful man who's scheduled to die tonight would pay any mind to his passing. The shame of it is, I have to do what I'm told to do."

Suddenly Jessica felt completely awake. "Tree hugger hunting with darts?" she gasped, watching Elisa nod again.

"They got permits for tagging the elk and moose, but Earl said they would hit the animal with a dart, and it would be knocked out. When they found a large animal they would transport it under the guise of thinning the herd and moving it to another location, but the only place that the animal ended up is on some one's table with the rack above the mantle. Sometimes they would say the animal had a bad reaction and would die from the dose. My husband said that the drug breaks down and only works on suppressing the heart and breathing – they faint. In a few minutes it's out of the system all together and it travels with the blood, so, if the blood is gone, the drug trace is gone and the meat is safe to eat. They were after one near Pirates Peek the night of the bus accident - a moose. Earl said they shot at any thing that moved and they didn't care if it was day or night." She gave her ring a twist with her other hand.

"You seem well informed on the darts," Jessica said, trying to fight back a yawn as she watched Elisa struggle with something she wanted to say. She saw Elisa frown slightly and become sad.

"My husband loads most of the darts; he told me they tell him how much they need for each one. Sometimes Earl had no choice but to have Dr. Henderson load them, and it's odd, because hers work the way they are supposed to. They don't want hers if they can help it. Earl gets stuck with them unless he can switch boxes, but then the numbers don't match. Not that the tree huggers pay attention, they just get miffed when the first shot doesn't kill the animal."

"If you knew they were doing something wrong, why didn't you tell Mort? Or call the game commissioner?" Jessica watched Elisa Trudy's eyes grow wide.

"Oh, I couldn't do that. I only had Earl's word that it was what they were doing, and it wasn't my place to question what my husband was doing. He was in a right state when he came to the store to pick me up. He doesn't believe as I do you see." Elisa took a breath then laid the papers on the edge of the sideboard. "I will just leave these here for you to look over when you have had some rest. I … I have to go. My husband will wonder where I am. "

Walking her to the door Jessica held it open and said briefly, "I don't think I will be signing them Elisa." She watched as the younger woman nodded, a bit distracted, turning just before Jessica closed the door.

"You have to take care of them, you see. No matter how they come into your life, with out them, the world, loses something." Blinking twice Elisa turned back and walked down the side walk to where her car was parked.

Jessica sighed and closed the door, making sure to lock it. She didn't know why she did that - she knew Grady and Frank had their own keys. She just felt a chill, as if something had changed in the world, and she couldn't put her finger on it. A beeping from her study caught her attention, and she realized it was her fax telling her she had an incoming hard copy and that it was out of paper. Sighing she reached up and took the key off of the ledge and opened the door. She didn't prop it open, rather let it close and latch again. She groaned as she picked up the three pages from her publisher - it was the contract for her new book and she would have to read each page then send them back and there were over forty-seven pages to the new contract. She glanced at the short sofa in the study as she loaded the paper into the machine. It and the contract would be enough to lull her to sleep in a heart beat. She felt the chill again, as if there was a window open. Sighing she pulled the coverlet off of the back of the short sofa and swung her legs up. Even though the windows were closed, and she knew Grady would help to put the storm windows in soon, the blustery pre days of fall would make her home quite drafty. She picked up the first few pages of the contract and began to read feeling her eyes grow heavy with each heart beat.

Tipper stretched as she got out of her small car and strode along the path that ran along the shore of Pirates Peak. She really could use a long sleep but it wasn't going to happen. She could see the people ahead of her, milling about. One of them had called the emergency dispatch, and the call was forwarded to her as the others at the vet clinic were elbow deep in surgery. Some large animal had died and had been found by a group of children as they scrambled over the rocks. It was the ninth one found this summer, and there were always no trace of how it happened. Sometimes they would just find the legs, and internal organs, with the trophy heads taken- other times it was just the guts.

She saw some of the kids were crying and hurried her steps coming closer to the smell that told her what ever it had been had been there at least a week or so. She would have to identify what animal it was, and then determine the death, and if there were any illnesses that were in the animal. Tipper saw as she rounded the bend that all that remained were the internal organs of the animal and a great deal of blood. From the size, and the bits of fur she knew it to be a moose.

"Huh… maybe Jordan did see it after all," she thought, holding her breath for a moment. "We were all over these hills, why didn't we see it then?" Something glinted in the sunlight. Tipper let out her breath and stepped back pulling her cell phone from her pocket.

The strident call of code rang through the halls of the hospital maternity ward. Grady and Frank looked at each other then bolted from the table leaving their meal half eaten. There was a flurry of nurses and doctors entering into the room blocking Frank and Grady from going in. Frank moved around to where the window was, he could see his mom holding a bundle and she was crying, but it was something else that caught his eye: Ian was the one laying on the gurney with everyone crowded about him.

"I woke up and he wasn't breathing," he heard Donna say. Frank ran down the hall and up the steps to the room where he knew Willie and Taylor would be. He burst in to an argument between Molly and Jordan and gasped breathlessly to Willie, "Its Ian - Mum's room – hurry!"

Taylor caught Frank in her arms and held him as he fell to his knees sobbing. "Its not fair – its not fair!" he whispered as Willie hurried from the room and took the steps two at a time.

Molly looked over the edge of the bed. "Cry baby!" she scoffed before shrieking as a tissue box was flung at her from Jordan's side of the room.

"Hey!" she snapped irritably. She looked at Jordan. Molly really didn't want to have another lecture from her regarding feelings for others. She loved her mother and her aunt and grandparents just fine. Who would need a looser like her father any way?

Willie was breathing hard when he pushed past to Ian's side. He stopped one of the nurses from giving Ian an injection and pushed her hand away. For a moment he placed his hand on Ian's thin chest then gathered Ian into his arms and lifted him up.

"Ye will only do harm if you don't know what ails him," he said softly carrying Ian to the chair where he sat down holding him against his chest. "And want of your medicines won't heal him properly." For a moment Willie regarded Ian and kissed his forehead. "Frank would grieve for you too deeply should you part from us. I canna allow that you know. Patti too- she would feel lost with out you in her life, every day. You know that lad. 'Tis not your time to take this path."

Frank half dragged Taylor from the elevator down the hall to his mother's room and inside – he knew with her there it might be the only way that he could get in to see Ian, if even to say the words he couldn't say. The gurney had been pushed out of the room as well as the crash cart - Willie had made it clear it wasn't to be used. Frank wiggled in to stand at Ian's feet and he grabbed one of them in his hand. "You can't go, I won't allow it!" he gasped through his tears.

Grady moved to Frank and placed his hand on Frank's shoulder "We can't …" Grady said, then stopped as Frank looked up at him with his tear streaked face. Taking a breath Grady said more firmly, "We can't allow you to leave us."

Silent tears fell upon Ian's cheek as his eyes fluttered. His mouth opened for a second, then closed before murmuring, "Zook, Bea Bea's in need," before his body relaxed in Willie's arms.

Taylor looked questioningly at Willie, looking for an answer.

Grady gasped. "Aunt Jessica!"

Things sounded far off for Jessica as she curled up under the blanket on the short sofa. There was the sound of a dog barking and a woman's screams. The shrill sirens and voices pounding on the door, the sharp smell of something that dragged her deeper into bliss. She tried to shrug it off, she tried to wake herself and knew that she must. Jessica couldn't move when she felt things fall around her or strong arms lift her up to carry her into the chilling damp of the front porch. She needed sleep – didn't they know that? Tender lips pressed against her own - lips that she remembered – lips that she yearned for.

"Frank," she murmured softly. Something wet licked her face again before the smell of plastic and cold oxygen filled her mind. She coughed, and then tried to sit up. Firm hands held her down, and for a moment she thought she saw Frank again, but the face blurred to Mort who looked exhausted, yet rather pleased with himself.

"Easy, Mrs. F," he cautioned. pulling the cover over her shoulders before patting Lucky's head.

"What happened?" she asked, surprised at how weak her voice sounded.

"You left the gas on your stove and your house was filling up with it - must have turned it on to make tea and forgot to turn it off all of the way before you took a nap. Lucky was out in the back yard, she's ok. Grady called me from the hospital and asked for me to check up on you. Your phone didn't ring, figured that you were on the computer or something. Sorry about your door," he said, looking at her befuddled expression past the oxygen mask that was on her face. "I had to kick it in to get to you. The key wasn't on the ledge."

For a moment Jessica took deep breaths of the sweet oxygen before sitting up and removing the mask. "I never had a chance to make tea, Mort, and Lucky was still in the house when I came in here to add paper to my fax machine."

She saw Mort stiffen. "Someone did this to you?" he asked as the paramedic took Jessica's blood pressure.

"Yes. And I have a fair idea who … and why," she said, regarding Lucky's muzzle. Cupping her hand under it she turned Lucky's nose towards Mort. There was a splash of blood on the side of the dog's cheek. "My guess is that Lucky escaped when the back door was open, knew the person was doing something wrong, and left a lasting impression on the person."

Mort patted Lucky on the head. "Good girl!" Lucky's tail thumped on the floor as her long tongue licked Jessica's face once more.

Grady nodded as he hung up the phone at the nurse's desk and breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment he closed his eyes, willing back tears. _Somehow, after all of this, I need a vacation…_ he thought to himself. Turning, he looked back into the room that held his wife and children. Donna was showing Frank how to change a diaper, a particularly foul smelling one with green slimy stuff. He wished Jessica could be there to see Frank's expression, and for a moment, he leaned against the nurses desk listening to Ian tell Frank that there was a way not to breathe when doing it. The color had returned to Ian's cheeks and he was still in his uncle's lap nestled safe in his arms.

_Safe? Why wouldn't he be safe?_ wondered Grady to himself. The look Frank had given Ian, and then Willie told Grady that Frank knew Ian's spells would only get worse. There was so much he had to tell Willie about the decisions that Gram had made, about Toot, and his sister and their children. Taking a breath he pushed away from the desk and started back towards the door when he noticed a woman coming down the hall heading in the direction of the room. Grady caught up with her as she was about to enter and gently pulled her back.

"I'm sorry, the room is closed except for family members."

Elisa turned and regarded Grady. "I need to see him, just for a moment, I need to speak with him," she said softly.

"Him?" asked Grady curiously.

For the longest time Elisa didn't say anything.

_"Sainmhíniú,"_ she said in a whisper. Her eyes flicked inward to where Ian was giggling and had his arms up, behind his head hugging his uncle from behind.

Grady saw her swallow before her hand closed in on his, pressing something into it. "He is of age," she said before going down the hall as if she had just stopped to ask for directions. Grady watched her go, Her face went pale as she stepped back into the elevator, and for a moment their eyes met silently before the doors closed.

Grady felt his knees go weak. _'Sainmhíniú' _- he had heard Gram mention that term with a quietness. It meant Seeker. He knew that much. Glancing down at what she had pressed into his hand he saw it was a silver ring with ivy wrapped around it. It was old - he somehow knew that by the style, and weight of it. Drawing in his breath he entered into the room. He went to Ian and regarded him then handed the ring to Willie. "She said he is of age. She said, _'Sainmhíniú.'" _He sat on the bedside as Donna lifted their daughter up into her arms. The baby's head turned towards her mother.

For a moment Willie didn't say anything. He nodded then, and stood up, lifting Ian with him. "Come along Frank, Mum and daughter need a bit of time together with dad. "

Frank followed Willie and Ian through the doors of the private waiting room. He could tell there was something that worried Willie with the way that he exchanged glances with Ian. Closing the door he sat down across them and then leaned forward.

"Okay. I know everyone else sees me as a kid, but, after what I have been through this summer - as I call it, 'Mortal Peril' - more than the average person should ever have in their life time, I think I have the right to know what is going on, and what _Sainmhíniú _means just in case…" Frank didn't expect an answer that would satisfy him. Most adults gave just the basic information on a need to know.

He watched as Ian cringed back into Willie's arms. It was Ian who spoke softly as Willie wrapped his arms about him.

"_Sainmhíniú_ means Seeker."

Turning the word over in his mind Frank looked between Willie and Ian. "So, why does that worry my dad, and you? She's just a nutty old lady. You're just a kid still with a whole life time ahead."

There was only a soft sigh from Ian as he nestled back into Willie's arms. Frank saw something in Ian's eyes. An acceptance of the end. Hot tears forced their way out and down his cheeks as Frank backed up.

"You're not a quitter," Frank said, wiping the back of his hand against the tears.

"Grant me acceptance for this path, Zookie, " Ian said softly, studying the ring that Willie held on the palm of his hand. .

"NO!" shouted Frank. For a moment he stood trembling before Ian and Willie. "No," he said again. "If that nutty old lady wants a Seeker she has to find another one," he said, snatching the ring from Willie and bolting out the door.

"Frank! Wait!" called Willie.

"It's no use, Uncle. He has to find out on his own. 'Tisn't the ring that makes the path, only illuminates it to the one who holds it."

Frank ran up the steps two at a time. He had to find that woman - he had to. He stopped, gasping for air after five flights of steps. He wasn't even sure what she looked like. He had only caught a glimpse of her as she stood next to his dad. She was short wearing gray and looked a bit bald. She was fat, too. Well, 'fat' would be something his mother would say was unkind … chunky? Plump? She had left his father and he had heard a ding.

The elevator! She'd gone to the elevator! There was something odd, though. Something missing … Frank drew in a breath and ran up the steps with renewed energy. Flinging the door to the ward open he panted as he rushed to his mother's room past the elevator. He could hear a man's voice in the room with them. It wasn't any one he knew.

"… with her when I get home. I'm sorry she bothered you … Elisa is a tad obsessive sometimes when it comes to those things… Where is it, by the way?"

Pulling back into the next room, Frank watched as the tall man in a white doctor's coat strode from his mother's room across the hall past the elevators. He paused at the trash recepticle,l dropping a wad of tissues into the pail. There was a clunk as he continued walking to go to the steps. Opening the door with a mighty swing, Frank heard the man's footsteps travel down in a run.

Going to the trash Frank peeked in. For a second he didn't see anything. He felt a rising sense of urgency as he drew back and hammered his finger on the button of the elevator. He could hear the faint _Ding Ding Ding,_ of the elevator being out of service several floors below.

_"Damnú air,"_ grumbled Frank under his breath.

He could hear his parents discussing things in his mum's room as the weight of the ring grew heavy in his hand. Drawing a deep breath in he wrenched open the door to the stairwell and rushed in. It was said by adults that kids have no sense of fear until they are over 22, but Frank knew fear as he took a few running steps and vaulted out into space feeling the world rush up to meet him as he grabbed the rail to brake his decent. Bungieing is what his peers called it, when your feet didn't touch any of the steps all the way down. They had been informed that if they were caught doing it they would face detention. Of course the plan was not to be caught, and if lucky, the school nurse who treated their twisted ankles wouldn't tell. Not that Frank made it a habit. He had seen it done, tried it a few times and ended up landing on his backside with his books everywhere.

The summer's activities had changed him, though, the grass cutting and the space that he had to ride his Aunt Jessica's bike. He knew his ankles would never be the same as he reached the last landing and saw the door slowly begin to close behind the person exiting. To whom ever it was, he was just a silly kid coming down the steps. He hadn't been seen with any one. Frank jumped down the last step and caught the door with his finger tips just before it was going to click shut. Pulling it back far enough that he could squeeze through it he saw the man stride with purpose to the vending area where Willie and Ian were. The man paused. Frank saw him frown as he half stepped inside and glanced in the room, then stepped back and continued down the hall. Curious, Frank waited until he was well away before going to the room himself. Looking in he saw the chairs were the way they had left them, but there wasn't any one in the room.

_What the heck was going on?_ Frank had a heart beat to ask himself that before he felt a hand cover his mouth and pull him backwards. He didn't struggle. He was familiar with the smell that was in his nose and he didn't cry out when the hand let go. Turning he saw Willie with Ian riding piggy back. Inclining his head, Willie lead him back in the direction of the stair well where Frank saw it had never really closed, past it and down the hall to a darkened room. Once inside Willie closed the door properly. In the dim light Frank saw benches, and some candles lit in a corner. Willie guided Frank to one of the benches and motioned for him to sit while he caught his breath.

"Listen carefully to me, lad – we need to get both of you to a safe place and none are at the moment for sure," whispered Willie.

"I know. He dropped two darts in the trash can up by the elevator, they were wrapped in a tissue… he's the murderer, isn't he? He has more in his pocket," gasped Frank.

"Does your heart tell you that?" asked Ian softly, looking over Willie's shoulder watching the struggle on Frank's face.

"Ether he is, or he knows who the murderer is," Frank said with a nod. "And your heart is telling you that too or you wouldn't be hiding here and whispering," Frank murmured.

"We'd made up our minds to come after you when we heard the footsteps down, and felt something was amiss when you came down after him like a bull elephant. People don't look to the side when they are in a hurry, both of you passed by us in your haste. But, aye, you're right. There is something very wrong out there," stated Willie tilting his head to the door.

Reaching in his pocket Frank withdrew the ring and held it out. "It has something to do with this, doesn't it? You've almost the same pattern on your wedding ring, and so does Aunt Taylor. And I saw the same pattern on the rings at Mither's - its part of your family crest. I know what a Seeker is. Well, at least in the gaming world a Seeker is a hunter - some one who tracks and kills the opposition. I looked up Ivy too when I got back – it lives off of the things that are dying. I learned along time ago that the stories we hear are based some how in fact, and I can't think of one good thing that a seeker could be. Ian has too much to deal with right now, and it's not fair to expect him to take it on …or you for that matter. She's just got to have to find some one else to do it … and it will be over soon, right? The news said that Fordham is going to be punished for good soon enough. Why would there be hunters in your family when all along you are all healers?"

"The ring is what people make of it. Some would see it as those who protect the family at all cost, yet, once they have broken away from the family to do this there is no going back. We all have our paths to follow, and some are given to us early on. Toot followed that path. There is a bit of death in all of the healing that has been done, Frank. Each part of the cure is a bit of poison to that which ails us. It's not by the hand of the healer which brings us back to life, but by what is in our own hearts, and what we believe to be true. This needs to be set right, but its best that one so young as you should not be burdened with the choice that has to be made."

Willie held out his hand as he set Ian down on the bench beside Frank. Sighing, Frank placed the ring in Willie's hand as he glanced about where they were. "Stay in here, until someone comes for you. Most likely whomever it is is looking for a man, and a boy, na two boys in meditation."

The door closed behind Willie as he made his way down the hallway. Ian struggled to his feet and hobbled his way to the corner of the room where the candles were. "Tis an odd thing, how people see something like this to grant what they wish for. As if a bit of tallow would be the answer." Gazing down at the stubby candles Ian fell into a brief silence before turning back to Frank. "It isn't how faith is, you know. Faith isn't something grand and mysterious. Its something that you accept and live with every day of your life."

"How do you know? Ian… I heard Aunt Jessica and Dr. Seth talking. They said you didn't do well on your test to place you in school. How do you know these things, and not something – well, that they expect you to know at your age?" blurted Frank.

Sighing gustily Ian plopped down on the end of the bench. Frank moved from his seat and sat on the bench across from him, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

"Was wondering that myself, and can only conclude its from when they were asking me things like how many people are in the house. As if it's their concern that there are three of us here, but there were more back home. And some of the neighbors had up to fifteen under one roof." Ian watched as Frank blinked a few times.

"Um, it's four hundred and thirty-five," Frank said finally

"Fifty people living under one roof in a house? Get on with ye!"

"Well, there are some for each of the fifty states. And there is another one hundred for the Senate," replied Frank as he watched the expression of puzzlement on Ian's face spread.

"Oh, then it can't be right that I said all of the Senate had passed on long ago, was thinking of the roman senate. An' I suppose a minister doesn't govern the area where you live?" Ian closed his eyes for a moment and hung his head.

Frank shook his head, sighing. "Not here. It's sometimes a Mayor, or a council of some sort. You shouldn't be expected to know that though, it's not the same where you live."

"You shouldn't be in here … It isn't right for you to be in here … None of your kind should have left the woods and white rocks where you sprang from, and we've paid for the barter ever since." A voice interrupted them from the back of the room in the darkness as the sliver of light from the door closed behind it in silence.

Frank caught a glimpse on Ian's face. A certain knowledge. The same he had seen in the dark bowels of the Fordham estate. There was a wistful longing as well.

_Woods and white rocks?_ thought Frank. _The graves? That's where this person is talking about? But - only family has seen it…or .._ Franks thoughts were cut short by the sight of Elisa stepping from the shadows, the struggle on her face evident. Her hands were clenched at her side, something heavy rested in her pockets.

"The barter?" asked Frank, curiosity getting the better of him.

Elisa's gaze shifted to him as her head jerked in a stiff nod. "Yes. The Barter. They came from the white rocks and woods sitting along the streams that ran pure, the ones that healed men of their suffering, men who paid them in the best gold. Soon they came and asked for the hands of the winsome lass's in hand fasting, and the children born spread across the land exacting the barter from others as well. And the people paid gladly to be healed … then learned they must continue to pay and pay to stay well, or all of the ills would return. The folk took the water by force, taking it away, and the waters stilled at the source, but when it was spilled to the ground from the vessel it ran blood. A new barter was made, to protect and find those who harmed those of wood and stone. They heal anyone, but never their own kind. The weak always fail and they had to be kept safe from harm so that the barter would continue and the waters would run again to heal. But if you find one and give them the task and they accept the charge, the barter may be ended. I've done what I could – I've seen the signs, I know this place, this town is the place of gathering … of a new stream that will heal again. The old debt must be laid aside once and for all. I've given the bond back - I've done what I could to protect - lay aside the debt now!"

"Are you nuts, lady?" Frank blurted. Belatedly he realized it was probably true as her eyes gleamed in the candle light.

"He has too! I've given back the bond to him - I've paid my task! Once they are given the ring, they take charge of it! He can not refuse!" she snarled, clenching her hands tighter.

"He doesn't have the ring, he never held it. I took it before he could and I gave it to someone else." Frank heard Ian gasp softly as he gazed into Elisa's eyes. _That was probably not the best thing in the world to tell her,_ he mused. Eyes that captured him and distracted the blur of movement in the darkness.

Frank felt his body being bumped and in a tumble fell between the benches. "Owww …" he groaned. He felt Ian's hand cover his mouth shushing him before the weight of Ian shifted off. "Stay," Ian had whispered.

Leaning wobbly against the bench Ian regarded Elisa.

"What's been done was not for debt, or barter, but for the greed of men. In a thousand years you all have not learned that. Don't look for healing, or waters that make the blind see and the lame walk," said Ian, holding onto the bench back for support.

Frank tried to see what was happening, but all he could manage from where he was at was something brassy with a red tag sticking out of Ian's lower leg. It was a shock to Frank to realize that it was a dart, imbedded in something, and meant for him. He could hear Elisa say something – but it was muffled from where he lay. Gathering himself up he crawled under the benches toward the back of the room in the darkness. Elisa's voice was sounding a bit strained – becoming higher as she waved her arms about demanding things from Ian.

_Who the heck does she think he is? Or what, for that matter? When I get out of this, I'm going to need some serious therapy… _Frank wormed his way past where she stood then looked back. He could see Ian still standing but he was getting wobbly. It was with a shock that he saw the brass thing had been a dart. Scooting back until he was beside her he considered his options. Chances were she had more darts. Her shoes were the slip on type, not tied, so he couldn't tie her laces. Ian couldn't run - heck, he was looking like he couldn't stand much longer. He could have made it to the door and be out, but he knew that he shouldn't leave Ian alone. He wasn't tall enough to swing any thing that would hit her and there wasn't anything in there that he could have hit her with.

Shifting his weight to his knees he lunged …

Dr. Walt Trudy sighed as he limped rounded the corner. He knew there were a few places that people could be in the lower area of the hospital. He had checked each of them carefully. Shaking his head he wondered how a man who dressed oddly carrying a little boy could have eluded anyone. He'd used his passkey to lock the elevators between floors before he went to see the Fletchers. The keys were all the same and the one that belonged to the hospital would be untouched. He listened. There wasn't any sound of voices, no footsteps. Letting out another gust of air Walt turned and found himself face to face with Willie, who was sitting up on the side of the desk for the empty waiting area regarding him with a calmness.

"Did ye lose somethin', lad?" a gentle Irish burred voice asked behind him, watching Walt blink in surprise as Walt turned with a jump at Willie's voice

"Answers," Walt blurted as Willie leaned forward and slapped the tops of his own legs with the palms of his hands.

"Fair enough, I'll give you two with out charge," stated Willie, dusting off his hands.

There was a struggle on Walt's face as it turned a particular color of pink. "My wife has been going on about you and yours since the story broke regarding that treasure. Things that I don't understand - for that matter, I'm not sure if I want to… she's gone a bit odd recently, saying she and her family deserved more for what they've done. That it was owed to them. I don't know why she would, really … her family has money, I've my own practice, and I do rather well with it. She wants for nothing. She says too much sometimes, though, and I have to fix it right, don't I? To tie up loose ends or others would know she's quite mad, capable of doing, 'most anything and take her away. Sometimes, I wonder if they should. She would be happier and well cared for."

"Your duty to your wife is to keep her from harm, aye, but na to fix her actions – as what you see – mistakes. She won't learn if you do everything for her or take back what she feels is her duty."

"I want that ring that she gave to you," Walt said, lowering his voice. "She never knew how valuable it was. She always kept it locked in her show case. She was babbling last evening, how all the signs were there. She said it had to be returned to the rightful heir. I couldn't allow that ether."

Quiet footsteps came down the hall, with voices that brought both men to look up at the source - Jessica's voice, as well as Franks and Ian's. The trio stopped short of entering into the area.

Willie saw that Walt paled and wobbled back a step. Sighing softly Willie withdrew the ring from his pocket and held it in the palm of his hand. "Sad that something so small has lead to such grief in life. You asked for answers young man, and I will give you two. One has been granted. As for the second, you have a choice, to know the truth - but it is a bitter truth that will be ash in your mouth. Do you want to know it? Aye, you do. Well, then … this ring is just a ring carved long ago, not cast, from solid silver. It was given as a band of a promise, but not as one that has been given to it. It was simply a wedding band given to a bride long ago. The promise was to protect and love the bride and her children forever. Much like the wedding band given to your wife so many years ago."

Frank moved to Jessica's side and curled his hand into hers. Looking at the ring Willie spoke quietly from where he sat not glancing at Jessica and Frank but holding his gaze on Walt. "Ian helped me understand that something, changed over time in that love, and that vow. A feeling that more was owed than just love. Greed. The want for more, and larger and better outweighed the simple love promise given on that day. And, as most have happened, there was a parting of the two of them, perhaps by choice or reason, and the other made a vow to find them even if it meant going to the ends of the earth. The value of this ring for the weight of its silver is about five dollars. The promise of that ring was twisted… as has been the promise of the ring you wear."

"What ails you, Dr. Trudy, that you wobble about so?" inquired Ian innocently from the wheelchair they had found for him.

Jessica drew in her breath. "He was bitten by Lucky after he turned the gas on in my kitchen without lighting the pilot. You were afraid that Elisa would tell me the truth regarding your poaching activities, was that worth murdering Earl as well?""

"Elisa must have…" Walt stammered, shifting back from Willie to turn to Jessica. "She was the last one to speak with him when he was alive."

Sighing, Jessica shrugged slowly, holding her hand up to show a dart that she held in a handkerchief. "You were very careful not to touch the darts. But you made a mistake: Tipper's darts held the regular dose, and two of them wouldn't have killed Earl… Your wife wouldn't have known which of the darts were yours, or Tipper's, but you would simply by a glance of the numbers on the box. As Frank reminded me, throwing them isn't much different that throwing darts at a board…or at a wall. I noticed the holes in the door frame at the clinic, where you had been practicing. You'd been planning this a while, haven't you? You couldn't alter the records, but you could wait until some of the brass that Tipper had loaded was returned, and instead of changing the records to your name, you kept them under hers. It was just a simple matter of finding one of her boxes, removing two of them and planting it in her car. The two that Frank saw you drop in the trash by the elevator, perhaps? You'd ether forgotten them, or didn't have a place to discard them until now, and given that Tipper was on that floor, you thought that the blame would be shifted on to her again."

Frozen at the sight of the dart Walt's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of the water. "Where did you get that?" he gasped.

"Elisa threw it at Ian - her aim was off and it hit him in the leg. It's one of yours," Jessica began, to be interrupted by Walt's "Like I said, Elisa killed Earl!"

Frank shook his head and stepped up to Jessica. "No, she didn't. She only threw it because she was testing Ian - she said so. She said a lot of things too. People do that when they find themselves caught. Like, that the tree huggers were paying you a lot of money to triple dose the darts to kill the exotic animals – the trophy animals. That you picked her up after she saw Earl, and that you had ducked inside to have a word with him about being paid extra for the moose they had brought down a while back. She may have been the last one to speak with him, like you said, but you didn't say anything to him before you threw the darts that killed him. How else would you have know she was the last to speak with him before he died?"

Walt clamped his lips tightly shut for a moment as he glared at first Frank then Jessica. "I want to speak with my lawyer!" he said finally as Mort stepped into the waiting room area with hand cuffs dangling from his hand.

"Why can't that stupid dog shut up? I'm trying to sleep here," grumbled Molly. "Why is that smelly thing even allowed in here anyway?"

Taylor looked down at Sydney who lay shivering in her arms. She'd sent a text message to Tipper, though she knew there was very little that the young vet could do. It just seemed to come upon Sydney for a while she was fine, then she had whimpered and now her entire body shivered and had intermittent spasms. She would not give this child the satisfaction of knowing the pain she had caused, nor rise to a match of wits between them. Soft footsteps coming down the hall and into the room made Taylor lift her head up. She saw the look on her friends face. Exhausted, Tipper had called a cab rather than risk driving. The cabby was about to make a wise remark regarding house calls for a vet at the hospital, but saw the look on her face and accepted the fee with out comment.

Tipper pulled up a chair beside Taylor and placed her vet bag on the floor. "We knew, Taylor, we've known for a while," she murmured watching her friend nod. "I can make her more comfortable, and give you a day, maybe two…"

"Just … just a day. Just through this day…" Taylor said with her eyes brimming. Tipper nodded, then withdrew a small syringe that she had preloaded and slipped it into the muscle tissue near Sydney's neck. It was enough to relax Sydney and cause her to yawn before slipping into a blissful sleep.

"FINALLY that stupid rat's been shut up!" Molly snorted.

Tipper rose from her chair and strode to Molly's bedside where she placed her hands on Molly's shoulders and gave her a sound shake. "You just don't get it do you? You hurt an innocent animal! You are the lowest of the lowest scum that ever has crawled out of the gene pool and when you die your evil hearts going to call the shadows that will drag your soul to hell."

Letting Molly's shoulders go, Tipper took a breath and stepped back. She saw Molly blinking with shock over what she had said. Turning away she strode back to her chair, bent over and snapped her bag closed then as she straightened up, she offered a hand to Taylor. "Come on. Let's go down to where the others are," she said gently. Taylor nodded and with Sydney curled up in her arms she walked with her to the elevator.

For the longest time Molly was too shocked to say anything. She finally blurted, "Who the hell does she think she is?"

Molly heard a tired sigh from Jordan, not really expecting an answer from her - so she was stunned when Jordan said softly, "She's someone who's seen them take someone down… She's a good person though. Good people may see them… but…only the bad hear the shadows scream…"

Seth closed Donna's door to muffle the sound of so many people inside of it as he met Jessica's eyes across the room. Frank was sitting at the bottom of the bed, Ian was snuggled in Willie's lap, Grady and Donna were together holding their daughter. Jessica was sitting in the chair beside the bed looking very tired, yet pleased with Frank. Tipper was sitting on the window sill, and Taylor was in the corner next to Willie and Ian as she still cradled Sydney who was softly snoring in her arms.

"… Once she was down Ian went over to her and told her to speak up, or else and she started saying some really – weird things. A real nuttier. And then Sheriff Metzger came in with Floyd and Aunt Jessica and took her away, then we went in search of Willie. If the dart she had thrown wouldn't have landed in his pants leg over his cast, he wouldn't be here. Lucky, I guess," Frank finished.

"Ah Zookie, luck is what you make of it," Ian said softly as he grinned from where he sat.

Grady regarded Ian, and drew a breath as he turned back to his wife who was handing their daughter up to Seth to hold.

"What have you named her?" Seth asked, lost in her blue eyes.

"We haven't yet…" said Donna wistfully.

Grady took his wife's hand and kissed it. "We've decided… to let Ian name her."

All eyes regarded Grady, and saw Donna cast him a curious glance before nodding herself. "If Ian hadn't have warned us, Aunt Jessica wouldn't be here."

Ian shrugged. "The path to follow isn't ready for Bea Bea… as for naming the wee lass, I can only think of one that will fit her. It's from the good book. Of a lass who was faithful and did what was needed in the proper time. Aurth."

Donna blinked several times. "Euroot? How, would that be spelt exactly?" she asked a bit pensively as Ian giggled and shook his head.

"Na, mum. Aurth. AR as in Aurabbit…"

"He means Ruth," breathed Grady softly. Looking to Ian for confirmation, Grady watched as a wise look came over Ian's face. He knew bright tears would be in Seth's eyes as he heard Seth say, "Oh my… Thank you."

"Someone you know, Boomer?" asked Tipper, curious.

"Ruth was Seth's wife. She died a few years after Uncle Frank … hang on," Grady said, leaning to the one side to withdraw his wallet from his hip pocket. He sorted through the photos and then slid one out. "That's from my first summer here," he said handing her the photo. "She was born in Ireland and came over before the war."

Ian didn't miss the soft gasp from Tipper as she gazed down at the wallet. "Ohhh," she breathed at last, then saw Ian regarding her.

"What?" she asked, lowering her voice so that the others didn't hear her.

"The name you have for Dr. Seth, what was it from?" Ian whispered to her.

"Boomer? It's a nickname he got in college … why?" she answered.

"Oh … just something tha' I should ha known," he said sighing, happily then he looked down as his belly rumbled. "Do you think that the cafeteria would have any of that corn bread left over from lunch time? I'm near about half starved I am."

"I think so… How about I go down with you and get some of those banana bars for Donna?" Grady asked as he slid off of the bed and scooped Ian up in his arms. "We will be back in a bit," he said carrying Ian out of the room. Grady carried him to the elevator and had to blurt out, "How did you know?"

"Know what, Zook?" Ian asked, curious.

"That - calling me Zook, and Frank Zookie and Aunt Jessica Bea Bea. Only one other person knew those names… How did you know them? No ones ever heard them since… Since…" Grady found Ian's fingers laid gently over his lips.

"Zook, you know the family. How paths cross and weave about. I didn't know how connected things were til you showed her picture about. I know these things now, because I needed to know them. Though I reckon that you didn't need any more to understand what faith would carry you to."

Grady paced inside a bit before stopping and looking back at the door of the elevator. "My daughter…"

"What about her?" Ian asked curious. "She will be her own self, much like I am."

"But … you know the things that only Uncle Frank knew, or would say."

"Like the world spins about for everyone, even us, and we manage by what we believe in?" said Ian with a sigh as the doors opened.

Grady strode down through the hall and into the cafeteria where he set Ian down at a table and went through the line picking some things up to take back with them. Frank would need a proper lunch of course. Ian breathed in the corn bread and smiled.

"Things will manage alright Zook. I believe in that."

Taking a breath Grady bent over and kissed Ian on the forehead. "I believe that too, Ian."

It was a bit of a shock to discover upon the day that Ruth was brought home from the hospital and Ian had his cast removed that another arrival was waiting for Willie and Taylor on their doorstep with bags in hand and a note that was placed into Willie's hand the moment he placed Ian down beside his sisters and his cousin.

"Mum's taken to her bed on the advice of Gram, and Mither can't look after all of us. That gent that Aunt Jessica knows brought us over and he said he had a proper errand to run this afternoon before he sees her," piped up Patty as she hugged her brother in turn.

"Can we go over to see Aunt Jessica please?" asked Shauna, holding onto Emily's hand.

"Let's get your things inside," suggested Taylor, herding Margarita into the kitchen along with the other children.

It was later that afternoon that Taylor and Willie with the children arrived at Jessica's house, and as Patty minded the girls as they played tag in the front room, they joined Jessica, Frank Grady, Donna and Ruth in the parlor. Frank was sitting next to Jessica not speaking. He had discovered that morning that his father had taken away Lucky, telling him that he had found a better home for her than Grandma and Grandpa Mayberry who had said under no condition was _that dog_ would be in their house with them. Frank hadn't said the words that were in his heart. He wanted to scream, to shout, to tell his parents he didn't want to be their son anymore. Closing his throat on his words, he remembered what Aunt Jessica had said - Lucky would only be there for the summer.

"So when we had a proper look over Ian's test results, we knew right away what had happened. There isn't many a proper lad from Ireland who cares about baseball, or who fathered your country… and they've agreed to let him attend the school in the year he is to be in as long as he gets caught up on their term of Social Studies. He will be in your grade, Frank," said Willie giving a nod to Frank before continuing. "And the research center that Mort's been wanting will be kept right in his own building, in one of the unused cells seeing how he can lock makes him keep it clean , and he can fuss over things as he sees the need to. One of the first cases he had was that wee bit o balm that was growing under the porch - seems it came from something left behind by one of Jordan's friends while they were smoking on our back porch. Mort has taken it away to be used as a control plant in the research center - mind you it will be trimmed back a bit so samples can be sent about to different labs, but its gone to a better home than where it can be dug up by the likes of the youngsters who recognize what it is. Ian has the duty to water it every third day. .. Hullo, we've company coming," said Willie, glancing behind his shoulder.

Gretchen Bishop strode across the front porch of Jessica's house and hesitated before shifting the box she held as she knocked twice. She had tried over at Taylor's but no one was home. Walking around to the back she had seen the fresh-tilled earth with a large stone laying in the middle of it. For a moment she closed her eyes. There would be changes in how Molly was going to be raised. No one, no animal was ever going to suffer again at that child's hand if Gretchen and her brother Harrison had any thing to say about it.

The white door swung open. Gretchen expected to see an adult, but instead saw a young girl with pigtails who smiled up at her. Inside the house was a rich riot of sound coming from the kitchen and among them, Gretchen recognized Willie calling things to order before the sounds began again.

"Good day Ma'am. Whom may I say is calling?"

"Gretchen Bishop - is Taylor Razanur receiving company?"

There was a steady thump clump as Ian waddled to the door frame of the parlor and looked toward his sister. "Let Mrs. Bishop in, Patty, she's known to Grady. Hello, come in and have tea with us," he said, waving her in.

A wild giggle and the running of feet came around the corner preceded mop-headed children who ran back with happy shrieks as their stocking feet slid upon the wood floors. Gretchen found herself smiling as she followed Patty to where the adults were sitting in the parlor. Ian swung another chair around for Gretchen who nodded to him, a bit shy of everyone and stayed in the door until Patty guided her in. to the where the chair was.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude on your company…" she said to Jessica. "I have only a bit before I have to leave for the airport." Gretchen breathed in then looked down at the box. "I know there is nothing that can be done to make up for Molly's actions, or for the sorrow that the death of your dog brought… I know that nothing can replace her."

Maggie came skidding in to the room and stopped before Gretchen. Placing her hand on the box she leaned forward and sniffed at one of the holes that was at the side. "Arr Arr" she giggled, then was off again. Gretchen was distracted for a moment watching her work her way sliding her feet on the wood.

"My great nephew's daughter," said Willie briskly. "And my nieces… they've come to stay awhile with their brother while their mum has their littlest one."

Gretchen turned back to where Taylor and Willie sat, her mouth forming an O of surprise. Realizing they were waiting she closed her mouth and swallowed before beginning again. "The court has rescinded the joint custody of Molly under the current circumstances. Harrison has custody of her now, and he's decided to stay here, in Cabot Cove, with her… he felt it was a better environment for her to be raised. I'm not sure of exactly what was done to her while she was at the hospital, but she seems to be a different child… she's asked me to give you this…" she said, handing the box over to Taylor.

Curious, Taylor felt the weight in the box shift slightly as she opened it. In a pile of shredded newspapers shivered a tiny puppy with curly fawn colored hair and large crystal blue eyes.

"It was to be her back to school gift – bu, she said you would be better for it than she. she said its name is Oliver."

Taylor sat back in her chair, blinking rapidly at the tiny puppy. Willie leaned forward, scooping the pup into his hands and setting the box on the floor. "Well, Tipper will be able to tell for sure, but I think its an Olivia," he murmured, placing the pup on Taylor's lap where it snuffed a few times before pressing into the folds of her skirt and sighing.

"I have to go now - I'm to meet a real estate agent named Eve regarding property Harrison said to look into. Good day," Gretchen said, rising.

Patty followed her to the door and said, just as Gretchen was about to step off the porch, "Ma'am? Things will be better now, you'll see."

In the parlor Frank leaned against Jessica's shoulder and sighed. He knew the summer was coming to an end, and that his parents had made a decision, one that involved parting from Jessica – something he found almost painful. His father had said they had found a nice house and everything was moved in. Frank hadn't seen it, he had spent every moment he could with Jessica and Ian.

"Who's going to cut your grass and help you with your roses?" he asked her softly. Jessica placed a kiss on the top of his head. "Oh, I think I know of a few who may be able…" she said gently as she saw Ian pull Margarita onto his lap and give her a hug.

Grady was standing up, and helping Donna up. "I'll put Ruth into the car seat…" he said, giving Jessica a kiss. "Come on Sport," he said ruffling Franks hair.

Frank hugged Jessica tightly. "I don't want to go," he said into her shoulder.

"Goodness, it won't be forever, Frank." Jessica said with a smile. "I'll see you sooner than you know."

Frank could hear the goodbyes being said by the girls, and Ian. He clung to Jessica not wanting to let her go.

"Come along now, Frank, your sister will be needing her afternoon nap soon after dinner," said Willie from behind where Frank was as the telephone rang in the hallway.

Sniffing back his tears Frank cupped Jessica's face in his hands. "I love you, Aunt Jessica. I'm glad we had this summer together."

"So am I, Frank," she said, brushing away his tears. "I love you too."

Sighing Frank felt Willie's hand on his shoulder. "I'll walk ye to the car, Frank. Aunt Jessica, you've a call on the hall phone."

Frank let all of the air out of his lungs then breathed in the crisp sea air. Nothing was ever going to be as good as Cabot Cove, He had no idea where Boothbay was, it couldn't be as wonderful as where he stood right now. Willie felt Frank pause as he closed the door to the front and stepped beside him.

"I've an answer for you Frank. One I should ha given you a while back, but you were too young to understand what you were asking back at the time. You're a young man now, you've grown over the summer and knowing a great truth of an answer changes everything if you let it, or you may live with it as we do live with faith every day… its that total acceptance of faith that guides us. The motto of my family, you've heard it a fair few times. You understand what it means, don't you? Believing in faith?" Willie saw Frank nod, then wait.

"I am," Willie said finally with a twinkle in his eyes.

For a moment Frank didn't say anything. Wordlessly he stepped into Willie's arms and hugged him "Thank you…" he said before parting from him and climbing into the back seat with his sister. Willie kissed Donna through the window then closed Frank's door. Shaking hands with Grady he gave a nod to Frank then turned back to where the kids were standing with Jessica waving good-bye. Sighing he leaned back into his seat.

Willie watched the car pull away from the drive and returned to the children gathered on the porch. "Will we be taking supper with Aunt Jessica and her gentleman friend tonight?" Patty asked.

Willie looked at her then saw where she pointed to a long sleek car arriving. He recognized the man that stepped out of the car, and was going to shoo her back in the house when he saw that instead of going to Jessica's right away he was coming to where Willie stood, and he had a long package under his arm.

"Gram sent this back to you. She said, once the baby is born, and old enough to travel, that she and the others will be arriving to stay here. Said there was something inside you should see. Now, we've both gone over the documents, and I know your Gaelic is better than mine, but Gram said there were signs that this is the place now for all to be safe."

"Thank you inspector. I've been told that too."

George nodded, then made his way to Jessica's back door where he knocked twice. The door was opened and Willie could see Jessica cling to George for a moment before drawing him inside.

"I am," Willie had said. "Am what?" Frank asked himself, studying his tiny sister who laid swaddled in the hand woven blanket that Willie had made for her to keep her warm. Her little hand curled about his finger as she regarded him with her serious blue eyes.

"I am." Frank was absorbed in the weave of the cloth to the point the slowing down, then stopping of the car was a shock to him.

"Is something wrong dad?" he asked, looking at the slate gray house that was to their left.

"We're here," said Donna, smiling.

"Here where?" asked Frank, puzzled. He could see a bed and breakfast across the street, and a sign for one farther on down.

"Home," said Grady opening up the door to take his sister out of the car. Frank looked around as he got out then opened the door for his mother. "Willy told me this place was for sale before, it just took a bit to get the addition finished for the baby…" Frank offered his arm to his mother, she was still a bit wobbly from having his sister.

"But we aren't at Grandma and Grand pa Mayberry's. Where are we?" Frank asked, getting the door for his mother then standing on the back porch. He could see the ocean from where he stood. He could see the tall ships and hear the thrum of the boats coming and going and the wind whipping the flag against the pole and his father's footsteps behind him.

"I tried for a place in Cabot Cove, but, there weren't any that we could afford. But Boothbay is a nice town, much quieter than Cabot Cove … less of a crime rate. It's only about five miles that way if you take the bike trail to Aunt Jessica's house, and you will be going to the same school as Ian , so you will see all of them every day. In the meantime, sport, you have chores to do …"

"Yes, sir…" Frank said softly. It wasn't as if he had any thing else to do. He had no desire to roam the hills as he had before. Closing his eyes he leaned against the rail. He was too big to cry. He was a young man, as Willie had said. He had been told a great truth by Willie one that he didn't understand. It was something though that he had asked and he couldn't remember.

"Frank? Do you want to do your chores before dinner?" he heard his Father say behind him.

Frank nodded. "I am," he said softly.

"Okay, first chore is … this," said Grady as he pushed something into Frank's hand. Frank glanced down then turned around to face his dad with a puzzled expression on his face. It was a long lead that was new and went behind his dad who wore a grin.

"She's been in all day and needs a proper walk. Oh - here are the bags you will need." Grady said pushing them into Franks pocket.

"Lucky!" gasped Frank, falling to his knees and hugging her as she wiggled happily to see him.

"After she helped to catch the murderer and protect Aunt Jessica, I knew she was too much a part of our family to leave behind," said Grady gently.

The sea birds gamboled about Frank as they walked down the hill towards the small town. It was smaller than Cabot Cove, but just as friendly as people returned his wave and smile.

"I am." The words seemed to dance on the wind with the tantalizing familiarity of a whisper. Sighing Frank stopped to clean up after Lucky then gave her a pat on the head as he found a trash place to put it in. Willie had always answered his questions straight forward. "Race you home, Lucky," Frank said, turning back up the hill. With a yip Lucky followed him, allowing him to win by a nose before going to her dish and getting a drink before laying down next to the baby's bassinette.

Frank washed his hands then helped his mom make supper, then cleaned up the dishes while she fed his sister. It was later in the evening that he went to where his sister's car seat was and folded the woven blanket. It smelt of fresh clover and sweet flowers. For a moment he just sat, holding it. It was the same weave he had seen on Willie the first day they had met.

He didn't notice at first that there was someone in the seat next to him. He studied the man – at first he thought he was a kid, like him, for the man stood about four and a half feet tall. It was the presence of a stubble beard that was peaking through that convinced Frank that he was not a kid at all. The man's head was tucked against his chest and soft snores were coming from him. Frank looked at him again. The man's coat was rough dark blue linen, his shirt was – different. It had a woven pattern style that Frank had never seen before. The man had a silk scarf about his neck, and had a dark vest. In the vest pocket a slim chain lead to a gold pocket watch. Looking at the man's head again, he saw his hair was curly locks, as if it hadn't been cut for a long time.

"Frank honey, is something wrong?" Donna asked, concerned.

_"Did ye lose somethin', lad?"_

"Mom, do you ... do you believe in the impossible?"

"_Did ye lose somethin', lad?"_

Donna came over to where he was and pulled a chair up to sit on beside him. Her soft hand reached out and brushed away the tears on his face that he didn't know he had shed. Her hand reached out and covered his as it held the soft woven blanket.

"Yes," she said softly before giving him a hug. "Bed time now, we have a lot of unpacking to do tomorrow, and the next day is the first day of school. I know your father wants to show you the bike trail to Aunt Jessica's tomorrow as well."

Frank lay on his bed looking out his window at the stars. Lucky had curled up at the foot of the bed snoring gently. Knowing he couldn't sleep he pulled his note book journal from under his pillow and clicked on the small book light he had purchased with the money his dad had given him at the beginning of the summer.

_Dear Journal,_

_In the time that has passed for this summer, I've changed. I started out not caring, and then learning what its like to be a parent, to be responsible, to know sorrow, and fear, and love of family. I've learned that truth comes in many forms. Some simple, some great. I've been told a great truth … I Am. I understand about faith, and death, and destiny. Sometimes. I don't know what will happen next, and sometimes I wish… I wished that I could have stayed home and not gone where I have. I'm glad though, that I did. I've met people that changed my life, and saved my family. I've fallen in love, and I know that she is always close to my heart, and I to hers._

Frank closed the journal and was about to turn off the light when he felt something slide from between the pages of the book to his bed. Using the light to search for what it was, he saw a glint of gold. "Hmm, that's where it went to," he thought to himself as he was about to replace the coin back with the pen. For a moment though, he hesitated. He had placed it in the book to make an impression of both sided of it, to study it closer.

"_Did ye lose somethin', lad?" Willie's voice had asked him. _

"I am …" The gold glinted and felt warm in his hand.

"_Did ye lose somethin', lad?" a gentle Irish burred voice asked behind him._

_ Frank's eyes went wide and he pulled back to his seat and leaned against the window as he shook his head. Even the man's accent was right for one of the wee folk. Stories of what he should do flooded his mind as he could only gaze at this man with abject curiosity. Realizing the man wanted an answer Frank couldn't help but blurt out, "No. Sir, are you a leprechaun?"_

_ The man gave him an appraising look then tilted his head. "Would ye be after m' gold if I was?" he asked with a twinkle in his hazel eyes._

_Frank had to think a moment. He shook his head. "No. It would be too difficult to get it exchanged, and it wouldn't help matters in the long run."_

_ "Ah, well, that's a wise decision then. Money isn't what the world was made for." He extended his hand. "My friends call me Willie Mac, the polite ones at least."_

"I am," Frank said to the gold coin. It twinkled in the lamp light. For a moment he gazed at it, then as he placed it in the drawer next to his journal and the book light he saw the face of the coin again in the diffused light from the hall. Just for a moment his world went still.

"Whoa," he gasped, drawing his breath in quickly. He pulled out his journal and flipped open the last page. With shaking hands he wrote on the last page:

_I understand it now what Willie told me today. I know the answer he gave me, and the question that I had asked of him. It is what we believe is possible, the unseen. The stories that we call fairy tales are based on some truths. I could believe in the gold, the wealth that turning the coin could bring, but that isn't what would bring the happiness into my life. I know why they buried the coins long ago, it wasn't to hide the truth that shows on the face of the coin – or the wealth that it would bring. There is a different wealth in family, in love and peace that money can not buy. If we are to accept that elves. fairies and leprechauns have walked the earth on faith alone, if that is the path that we believe and follow, even with proof, then we have not looked far enough. For there are also angels and the shadows as well that are out there. I thought that with all that I have seen over the summer that I had grown up, that I was mature, and had become an adult. I wanted to be a kid again. I needed to believe in something – great. _

_I am._

_I am … too._

_-Frank Fletcher,_

_Forever young at heart._

The End

_**Author's notes**_

_While this * is * the end of the _Tabhairt Isteach Do_ series, and the summer that Frank Fletcher spends with Jessica, it's not the end of the adventures of those who have been created with in these many pages. I don't know when the wild plot bunnies will wish to be woven into another tale, someday when I least expect I suppose. I have other projects to attend to this year, the writing of a book that is original fiction and getting prepared for my own wedding this August. I hope to make it, and the life I will share with the man I love as magical as Taylor's and Willie's and I know I have great friends to help along the way. Thanks to Anne for being my faithful beta._

_Thanks all for believing,_

_Kath_


End file.
